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YOUNG AMERICAN STORY BOOK 


STORIES OF 

EVERYDAY FRIENDS 


B-v^TANE EAYRE FRYER 

AUTHOR OF “THE MARY FRANCES SEWING BOOK;” 
“THE MARY, FRANCES COOK BOOK,” AND OTHER 
“MARY FRANCES STORY-INSTRUCTION BOOKS” 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

EDNA W. COOKE 

AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS 


/ 


THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY, Publishers 
Chicago PHILADELPHIA Toronto 


Copyright, 1920, by 
The John C. Winston Cc. 
Copyright, 1918 


jEC 31 1920 


§)CU604837 


tUS a> 


AMERICANS FOR AMERICA 

THE YOUNG AMERICAN STORY BOOKS have been 
written to meet the public demand for literature of such 
patriotic character and civic nature as will help in making 
better American citizens of children — in other words, such 
as will inculcate real Americanism. 

Since the World War, as never before, we have come to 
recognize that even young children are citizens, just as 
much as adults are. We have come to see that, as citizens, 
boys and girls must be taught Americanism — must be 
trained in good citizenship; and that, if they are to be good 
adult citizens, we cannot wait for them to grow up, but 
must give them such training in youth. 

The first volume. Stories of Everyday Friends^ starts 
with the child in the home, and many of the stories are 
drawn from the daily life of the usual child in the average 
American family. Attention is called to the daily service 
of the friends who help the family to live. These friends 
are the baker, the milkman, the grocer, the doctor, the 
nurse, and others without whose work the family would 
find it hard to live comfortably. 

The question naturally arises, “How should such helpful 
friends be treated?’^ The stories in the volume which teach 
such simple virtues as courtesy, helpfulness, truthfulness, 
fair play, thoroughness, honesty, and respect answer the 
question. Even the services of the grocer’s horse are not 


overlooked, for kindness to animals is one of the topics 
treated. 

Similarly, in the second volume. Stones of Everyday 
Heroes^ the stories are about the services of another set 
of people who help guard and defend that most valuable 
institution — the American home. These helpers are every- 
day heroes such as the policeman, the fireman, the street 
cleaner, the Red Cross worker, and others who give daily 
patriotic services. Not only are their services examples of 
good Americanism, but they are of such a nature as to 
supply stories of courage, self-control, thrift, perseverance, 
and patriotism. Here the young citizen is again taught 
kindness to animals as part of his training in fair play. 

In the third volume. Stories of Everyday Wonders, a 
new set of interests is pointed out. Stories are told of the 
telephone, the telegraph, of water, gas, and electricity, and 
other comforts and advantages that surround the children 
of to-day. In this volume, as in the former volumes, the 
question, ^^What can I do?’^ is answered. The child is 
shown just what useful services may be rendered by children. 
Caring for Our City’s Trees, Clean-up Day, Vacation 
Gardens, Safety First, First Aid, and Junior Red Cross 
Work are topics of stories which will inspire young citizens 
to patriotic service, and prepare them for the serious 
responsibilities which await every child in America to-day. 


CONTENTS 


PART I 

CIVIC VIRTUES 

Stories Teaching Thoroughness, Honesty, Respect, 
Patriotism, Kindness to Animals. 

Thoroughness page 

The Little Prairie Dogs and Old Mr. Wolf 3 

DonV Give Up, Phoebe Cary 8 

The Bridge of the Shallow Pier 9 

The Thoughtful Boy 16 

Grandfather^s Story 17 

Honesty 

Honest Abe 23 

I. The Broken Buck-horn 23 

II. The Rain-soaked Book 24 

III. The Young Storekeeper 26 

Dry Rain and the Hatchet 28 

I. How Dry Rain Got His Name 28 

II. Dry Rain Goes Trading 29 

The Seven Cranberries ^ . . 32 

The Donkey's Tail * 36 

Hurting a Good Friend 39 

(ix) 


Respect page 

A School Without a Teacher 42 

Our Flag 47 

ScouT^s Pledge 48 

My Gift 49 

Flag Day 49 

How Our Flag Developed 52 

The Flag of the U. S. A 54 

The American Flag, Joseph Rodman Drake . ... 55 

Kindness to Animals 

The True Story of Cheesey . 56 

I. The Dog and the Policeman 56 

II. The Policeman’s Story 57 

HI. Cheesey’s Christmas Presents 58 

The Chained Dog 60 

Little Lost Pup, Arthur Guiterman 62 

Picture of Red Cross Army Dogs 64 

The Hunting Party 66 

The Lost Kitty, Ella Wheeler Wilcox 67 

My Peculiar Kitty 68 

. Poor Little Jocko 69 

Robin Redbreast 74 

Who Killed Cock Robin? 75 

My Friend, Mr. Robin 77 

If All the Birds Should Die, George T . Angell 78 

Furry 80 

The Grocer’s Horse (adapted), Mrs . Huntington 

Smith 83 

I. The Careless Driver 83 

11. What Happened in the Barn 86 

A Letter from a Horse 88 

A Plea for the House 89 

(x) 


PART II 


COMMUNITY OCCUPATIONS 

Stories about People Who Minister to Our Daily 
Needs. 

People Who Provide Us with Food 

The Baker 95 

I. An Early Call 95 

II. The Staff of Life 99 

III. A Visit to the Bakery 101 

IV. Where the Wheat Comes From 107 

Baking the Johnny-cake Ill 

The Milkman. . 115 

I. Before the Sun Rises 115 

II. Milk, from Farm to Family 119 

The Grocer 122 

I. The Old-time Grocer 122 

II. The Modern Grocer 125 

People Who Help Clothe Us 

The Tailor 127 

I. The Accident 127 

II. At the Tailor Shop 129 

III. What the Tailor Saved the Duwell 

Family 132 

The Dressmaker 134 

1. An Invitation to a Party 134 

II. A Disappointment 136 

III. At the Dresmaker’s 137 

IV. The Party 142 

The Silk Dress 144 

(xi) 


PAGE 


The Shoemaker 145 

1. The Worn Shoes 145 

II. Shoemakers Who Became Famous 150 

III. At the Shoemaker's Shop 152 

People Who Supply Us with Shelter 

The Carpenter 154 

I. A Trip into the Country 154 

II. The Sawmill 158 

III. The Carpenter 161 

IV. The Wolf's Den 163 

V. The Cave Dwellers 165 

The Bricklayer 168 

I. The Fallen Chimney 168 

II. The Bricklayer 172 

III. After School 173 

The Plumber, the Plasterer, the Painter. . 176 

I. A Visit to a Little Town 176 

II. At Home 178 

III. The New Kitchen 179 

People Who Supply Us with Fuel 

The Coal Man and the Miner 181 

I. Black Diamonds 181 

II. In a Coal Mine. 183 

People Who Care for Our Health 

The Dentist 187 

I. Why Ruth was Afraid.. 187 

II. At the Dentist's 190 

(xii) 


PAGE 


The Druggist, the Nurse, and the Doctor.. 192 

I. The Sick Baby 192 

II. The Druggist 194 

III. The Trained Nurse 196 

IV. The Doctor, a Hero 199 

One for All and All for One (a play) 201 


PART III 

THE AMERICAN RED CROSS 

Junior Membership and School Activities. 

The Junior Red Cross 209 

The President's Proclamation 210 

The American Red Cross in Times op Peace .... 211 
The American Red Cross in Times op War. . . . 215 

Bepore the Days op the Red Cross 215 

Florence Nightingale 216 

How the Red Cross Came to Be 219 

How I Can Help the Red Cross 222 

The Lady op the Lamp (a play) 224 

Act I. The Sick Doll 224 

Act II. Good Old Cap 225 

Act III. The Lady op the Lamp 227 

You AND I AND AlL OP Us 228 


(xiii) 



•» 





PART I 


CIVIC VIRTUES 

Stories Teaching Thoroughness, Honesty, 
Respect, Patriotism, Kindness to 
Animals 

These stories also teach, incidentally, the co-ordinate virtues 
of obedience, cleanliness, orderliness, courtesy, helpfulness, 
punctuality, truthfulness, care of property, and fair play. 






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THE LITTLE PRAIRIE DOGS AND 
OLD MR. WOLF 

1 . 

Once upon a time, three fat little prairie dogs 
lived together in a nice deep burrow, where they 
were quite safe and warm and snug. 

These little prairie dogs had very queer names. 
One was Jump, another was Bump, and another 
was Thump. 

Well, they lived very happily together until one 
day Jump said, ‘T believe I would rather hve 
up on top of the ground than in this burrow.” 

‘T believe I would, too,” said Bump. 

“I believe I would!” said Thump. “I’ll tell 
you what we can do ! Let us each build a house I ’ ’ 

3 


"Let us!” cried Jump and Bump, and away 
they all scampered up out of the burrow. 

Each one ran in a different direction to hunt 
for something to use in building a house. 

Jump gathered some straws. 

"These will do,” he thought. "I shall not 
bother to look for anything else. Besides, they 
are very light and easy to carry.” 

So Jump built a little straw house. 

Bump gathered some sticks. 

"These will make a nice house. They are 
quite good enough,” he said. 

So Bump built a little stick house. 

Thump saw the straw and the sticks, but 
thought he might find something better. 

Pretty soon he came to a pile of stones. 

"My, what a fine strong house they would 
make ! ” he thought. "They are heavy to move, 
but I will try to use them. ’ ’ 

So he carried and carried and worked and 
worked, but finally he had a stone house. 

II. 

The next morning when old Mr. Prairie Wolf 
awoke and stretched himself, he saw the three 
little houses in the distance. 

"What can they be?” wondered old Mr. Wolf. 

4 


“Maybe I can get breakfast over there.” So 
he started toward them. 

The first house he came to was the straw one. 

He peeped in the window and saw little Jump. 

He knocked on the door. “Mr. Jump, let 
me come in,” said he. 

“Oh, no, by my bark — bark — bark! you can- 
not come in,” barked little Jump, pushing with 
all his might against the door with his little 
paws. 

“Then I’ll blow your house over with one big 
breath!” growled old Mr. Prairie Wolf. 

So he blew one mighty breath, and blew the 
house over, and ate up poor httle Jump. 

On his way home, old Mr. Wolf stopped to 
look in the window of the little stick house. 
He saw little Bump. 

“My, what a good breakfast I shall have to- 
morrow!” he thought to himself. 

The next morning he came early and knocked 
on the door of the little stick house. 

“Mr. Bump, Mr. Bump,” said he, “let me 
come in.” 

“Oh, no, by my bark — bark — bark! you can- 
not come in,” barked little Bump, standing on 
his hind legs with his back braced against the 
door. 


5 


‘‘Then I’ll throw your house over with one 
blow of my paw,” growled old Mr. Prairie Wolf. 

And he did, and ate up poor httle Bump. 

III. 

On his way home, he stopped to look in the 
window of the little stone house. 

Thump sat by the fireplace toasting his feet. 

“My, my!” chuckled old Mr. Wolf, smacking 
his hps, “he is the fattest one of all. What a 
fine breakfast I shall have to-morrow!” 

The next morning he’ came earlier than ever, 
and knocked on the door of the little stone house. 

“Mr. Thump, let me come in,” said he. 

“All right,” called little Thump, “when my 
feet get warm.” 

So old Mr. Prairie Wolf sat down to wait. 

By and by, old Mr. Wolf knocked on the door 
again. ‘ ‘ Aren’t your feet warm yet, Mr. Thump ? ’ ’ 
he growled. 

“Only one,” called Thump; “you will have to 
wait until the other one is warm.” 

So old Mr. Wolf sat down to wait. 

After a few minutes had passed, he knocked 
on the door again. 

“Isn’t your other foot warm yet, Mr. Thump ? ’ ’ 
he growled. 


6 


“Yes,” called Thump, “but the first one is 
cold now.” 

“See here, Mr. Thump,” growled old Mr. 
Wolf, “do you intend to keep me waiting all day 
while you warm first one foot and then the other? 
I am tired of such foolishness. I want my break- 
fast. Open the door, or I’ll knock your house 
over!” 

“Oh, all right,” barked little Thump, “and 
while you are doing it, I shall eat my breakfast.” 

That made old Mr. Prairie Wolf very angry, 
and he kicked at the little stone house with all 
his might ; but little Thump knew he could not 
move a stone. 



7 


After a long while the noise stopped, and little 
Thump peeped out of the window. He saw old 
Mr. Wolf hmping painfully off; and that was 
the way he always remembered him, for he never 
never saw him again. 

This story, which is built on the framework of the old classic, 
“The Three Pigs,” lends itself readily to dramatization. Let the 
four characters take their parts as they remember the story. By 
no means have them memorize the words. 

QUESTIONS 

Which little prairie dog worked hardest to build his house ? 

The others had an easy time, didn’t they? 

But which one was happiest in the end? WTiy? 

DON’T GIVE UP 

If you’ve tried and have not won. 

Never stop for crying ; 

All that’s great and good is done 
Just by patient trying. 

Though young birds, in flying, fall. 

Still their wings grow stronger ; 

And the next time they can keep 
Up a httle longer. 

If by easy work you beat. 

Who the more will prize you? 

Gaining victory from defeat. 

That’s the test that tries you ! 

— Phoebe Cary, 


8 



THE BRIDGE OF THE. SHALLOW PIER 
I. 

Once upon a time, a mother loved her little 
boy so well that she made the mistake of offend- 
ing one of his good fairies. This was the fairy 
of carefulness. 

The mother made the mistake of trying to do 
everything for her little son. She even put his 
toys away when he was tired of playing. 

After the boy grew older and went to school, 
she did many of his lessons for him. His daily 



9 


marks in arithmetic were good, for much of 
his work was done by his mother at home. Of 
course his teacher did not know this for the boy 
copied his mother’s work. 

Now, just as you would expect, this made 
the boy very careless. But he was really a 
bright boy, and even though he did not do well, 
he managed to pass his examinations. 

“If you would only be more careful,” his 
teachers would say, “you would have the highest 
marks.” 

When his mother saw his reports, she would 
say: “Oh, isn’t this too bad, son; I know you 
will have better marks next time.” 

So, when the boy became a man he did every- 
thing in the same careless manner, forgetting 
that other people would not excuse him as his 
mother had done. 

Now the good fairy of carefulness was very 
much offended at the way in which the mother 
spoiled her httle son. So she said to herself, “I 
must, I must teach that boy a lesson ! ” 

II. 

When he was little, this boy was very fond of 
playing at building bridges. After he was grown 
up, he became a builder of real bridges. 

10 


At first, he built only small bridges over the 
brooks and httle streams, but one day an order 
was given him to build an important bridge over 
a large river. 

Just as you might guess, this pleased the man 
very much, and he was glad to begin the work 
at once. 

Soon his men were busy, putting in the piers 
for the new bridge, and he was hurrying them as 
fast as he could, in order to get the bridge built 
on time. 

Every day he sat in a rowboat calhng to his 
men. They were about to begin work on the 
middle pier when the foreman of the workers 
came to him. 

“Mr. Builder,” he said, 'T think we shall 
have to wait for more material if we go down to 
the right depth for this pier.” 

“Nonsense, man,” said the builder, “we have 
no time to wait. There is a pretty good bottom 
under that place. Don’t go so deep. Get along 
with the material you have.” 

“But, sir, — ” began the man. 

“Do as I tell you,” ordered the builder. 

“All right, sir,” replied the foreman; “you 
may order that done, but one of the other men 

will have to do the job.” 

1] 


“Very well, ’’ was the angry reply of the builder, 
“Jim Nevermind will take your place.” 

The foreman slowly drew on his jacket. 
“Somebody will pay for such carelessness,” he 
muttered. “I hope it will not be — ” but the 
rest of the sentence was drowned by the orders 
of the new foreman. 


III. 

In -a very short time the bridge was finished 
and the inspector came to look it over. 

“It looks all right,” he said. “Are you sure 
the piers are sound? I haven’t time to examine 
them, but I know that a man who has built as 
many bridges as you, would make them right.” 

“I am glad you are pleased, sir,” replied the 
builder. 

“You have certainly made record time,” con- 
tinued the inspector, “and I shall carry back a 
good report.” 

“Thank you very much,” said the builder; 
but his pleasure was somewhat spoiled because 
of the shallow pier. 

“It is all nonsense,” he thought, “to be so 
particular; besides, the current in that river is 
so slow that there is no danger. ’ ’ And it seemed 
true, for three years later, the bridge appeared 
12 


to be as firm and strong as when it was first 
built. 


IV. 

But one day in the early part of the fourth year 
there came a great flood. The slow-moving cur- 
rent became a raging torrent, sweeping every- 
thing in its way and blocking large timbers and 
trees against the bridge. 

It so happened that a party of young people 
were riding along in a big hay wagon drawn 
by four beautiful bay horses. When they came 
to the bridge the driver stopped. 

“Shall we cross?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes,” the children shouted, “it will be 
fun.” 

“It looks safe enough,” said one of the two 
grown people who were with them. So with a 
“Gee-up, boys,” to the horses, the driver started 
across the bridge. 

Just — ah, you know, don’t you? Just as they 
reached the middle pier, there came a creak and 
a rumble, a moment’s swaying, and a crash. 
The bridge had caved in, and the hay wagon, 
f ill] of terror-stricken children, together with the 
frightened horses, was swept into the water. 

“Don’t jump!” shouted the driver to the 
13 


children, trying to guide the swimming horses 
shoreward ; but that was impossible. 

For a full minute, which seemed like hours, 
they were swept onward. Then, — maybe the 
good fairy of carefulness had planned it — they 
rested on a httle island the top of which was 
just covered with water. 

The white-faced driver counted the children. 
‘ ' All here ! Thank God ! ” he said. 

The little folks cried and hugged each other 
and called aloud for their mothers and fathers. 

They had to stay there all night, cold and 
frightened and hungry. That was dreadful 
enough, but it was nothing compared with the 
fear that the water might rise higher still. 

But slowly and steadily it went down, and by 
early morning all of the little island was un- 
covered. All the party were then quickly rescued 
with boats. 


V. 

The builder started, as the heading in the 
evening paper caught his eye— “Terrible Bridge 
Accident— Who is to Blame? ” 

“Why, why, it’s the bridge of the shallow 
pier!” he exclaimed. “People will find out 
that I am the one to blame !” 

14 


"Shall I run. away? ” he wondered, and sat for 
hours with his head in his hands. 

Suddenly he threw back his shoulders and said 
aloud, "No, I will not run away. I will stay 
and do what I can to make the bridge right and 
never neglect my duty again ! ” 

Do you wonder that the good fairy of careful- 
ness, and thoroughness, smiled and whispered, 
"I wish he could have learned his lesson more 
easily ! ’ 



MEMORY GEM 

If a task is once begun 
Never leave it till it ’s done ; 

Be the labor great or small 
Do it well, or not at all. 

— Phoebe Cary. 

QUESTIONS 

The careless little boy had a very easy time both at home 
and at school, didnT he? 

But, what kind of man did he grow to be? 

15 


It did not seem as if just one shallow pier would matter, 
did it? 

But if he had been honest and thorough in his work when 
he was little, do you think he would have been content to be 
paid for such a carelessly built bridge? 

How do you suppose he felt when he heard about the 
accident? 

Can you remember some time when you felt like being 
careless, but decided to do your very best? 


THE THOUGHTFUL BOY 

“Little by little,” said a thoughtful boy, 
“Moment by moment I’ll well employ; 
Learning a little every day. 

Not spending all my time in play ; 

And still this rule in my mind shall dwell, 
‘Whatever I do. I’ll do it well’.” 

“Little by little. I’ll learn to know 
The treasured wisdom of long ago. 

And one of these days perhaps we’ll see 
The world made better for having me.” 

And do you not think that this simple plan 
Made him a wise and a useful man? 

— Selected. 


16 



GRANDFATHER’S STORY 

I. 

Charles was fastening the lid on a box of 
Christmas presents which his little brothers were 
going to send to their cousins. 

‘‘If I were you, I’d put another nail on each 
side,” said grandfather. 

“Oh, I think these will hold,” Charles replied, 
giving the box a little shake. “There are three 
on each side.” 

“Four would be better,” grandfather said. 

“Oh, grandpa, don’t you think three wiU do? ” 
asked the boy. “I — I haven’t any more.” 

, 17 


"So that is the trouble,” said the old gentle- 
man, laughing. "Very well, here is some money. 
When you get back from the store I will tell you 
how the history of a whole great nation was 
changed for want of a few horseshoe nails ! ” 

"A few horseshoe nails!” exclaimed Charles. 
“Is it true, grandpa? ” 

"It is true,” answered grandfather. “Now 
hurry up if you want to hear how it came 
about.” 

“Oh, thank you ! ” Charles cried, as he started 
out of the door. 

He was so delighted with the promise of one of 
grandfather’s stories that he was back in less 
time than if he had gone for candy ! 

“Well done!” grandfather greeted him. 
“Now sit down, and while you get your breath, 
I will tell you the story. 

II. 

“Many, many years ago, when King Richard 
was ruler of England, he owned a beautiful horse 
which he rode whenever he went into battle. 

“One day word came that Henry, the Earl of 
Richmond, was on his way to attack the king’s 
men. 

“King Richard ordered his favorite horse 
18 


brought to him, and turned to talk to the of- 
ficers of his army. 

“Now the groom who had charge of the king’s 
horses suddenly noticed that this horse needed 
shoeing. 

“ So he hurried to the nearest smithy. 

“‘Shoe this horse quickly,’ he said to the 
blacksmith. ‘His Majesty has called for him. 
The enemy is near ! ’ 

“The blacksmith worked with all his might, 
and soon had four horseshoes ready. 

“When he had nailed on two shoes, he found 
he had not nails enough for the other two. 
Suddenly the bugles sounded. 

“ ‘Hurry !’ cried the groom. ‘The soldiers are ' 
gathering ! ’ 

“ ‘Shall I make more nails?’ asked the black- 
smith. 

“‘How many have you?’ asked the groom. 

“‘I have only eight,’ replied the smith. ‘It 
would not take very long to hammer out eight 
more. ’ 

“‘You will have to make eight do,’ said the 
groom. 

“ ‘If you could only wait a little while,’ urged 
the smith, working away. 

“‘I suppose I might, — but it would be a 

19 


risk! Won’t four nails hold a horseshoe?’ 

“ 'Well, that depends on how hard the horse 
is ridden,’ answered the blacksmith, driving the 
last of the eight nails in place. 

“The horse reached the king in good time, for 
it took quite a long while for the officers to make 
their plans. 


III. 

“Soon King Richard was riding among his 
men, cheering them on in the battle. 

“‘No other horse could carry a man as surely 
and swiftly,’ whispered the king, patting the 
horse’s neck. 

“He had not noticed that the horse had lost 
one shoe. Onward he urged him over a rocky 
hill. Another shoe flew off. 

“Suddenly the horse stumbled and fell, and 
the king was thrown to the ground. 

“Before he could rise, the horse, although 
lamed, had struggled to his feet and galloped 
away, dreadfully frightened. 

“Then the king shouted, ‘A horse ! A horse I 
My kingdom for a horse ! ’ 

“But there was no horse for him. When his 
men had seen him thrown, they had aU turned 
and fled. 


20 


“And so the battle was lost, and King Richard 
was killed, and the history of the great nation of 
England was changed, for Henry, Earl of Rich- 
mond, became king.” 

“And all for the want of a few horseshoe 
nails ! ” finished Charles, as grandfather stopped 
speaking. “I will put two more nails into each 
side of the box lid, grandpa !” 

“While you are doing that, I will teach you 
a few lines that I learned when I was a boy,” 
said grandfather. “Try to remember them.” 

“For want of a nail the shoe was lost ; 

For want of a shoe the horse was lost ; 

For want of a horse the rider was lost ; 

For want of a rider the battle was lost ; 

For loss of a battle a kingdom was lost ; — 

And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.” 



21 


QUESTIONS 

How might the battle have ended if the groom had waited 
until the blacksmith had put the right number of nails in 
the horse’s shoes? 

Which do you think King Richard would rather have 
lost — a little time or his kingdom? 

How do you suppose the groom and the blacksmith felt 
when they learned the result of the battle ? 

Do you know any careless people ? 

What do you think of them? 

Can you remember ever doing something carelessly in 
order to finish more quickly? 

Tell about it. 


If you’re told to do a thing, 

And mean to do it really ; 

Never let it be by halves ; 

Do it fully, freely! 

— Phoebe Cary. 


He liveth long who hveth well ; 

All else in life is thrown away ; 

He liveth longest who can tell 

Of true things truly done each day. 


What is worth doing at all is worth doing well. 


Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her 
ways, and be wise. 


22 


HONEST ABE 


As a boy, Abraham 
Lincoln was known as 
“Honest Abe.’’ Like 
other boys he sometimes 
did wrong, but never did 
he try to hide his wrong- 
doing. He was always 
ready to own up and tell 
the truth. So his neigh- 
bors called him “Honest 
Abe. 

In this way he was like 
young George Washing- 
ton. The American peo- 
ple are fond of that kind 
of boy. That is one of 
the reasons why Lincoln 
and Washington were 
each twice elected Presi- 
dent of the United 
States. 

I. The Broken Buck-horn 

When he was fourteen 
years old, young Abra- 
23 



ham attended a log cabin school during the 
winter. 

Nailed to one of the logs in the schoolhouse 
was a large buck’s head, high above the chil- 
dren’s reach. 

A hunter had shot a deer in the forest, and 
presented the head, when mounted, to the school. 
It had two unusually fine horns. 

One day the teacher noticed that one of the 
horns was broken off short. 

Calhng the school to order he asked who had 
broken the horn. 

“I did it,” answered young Lincoln promptly. 
"I reached up and hung on the horn and it 
broke. I should not have done so if I had 
thought it would break.” 

He did not wait until he was obliged to own 
up, but did so at once. 


Dare to be true ; nothing can need a lie. 

A fault which needs it most grows two thereby. 

— Herbert. 


n. The Rain-soaked Book 
There were no libraries on the frontier in those 
early days. When the boy Lincoln heard of 

24 


anyone who had a book, he tried to borrow it, 
often walking many miles to do so. He said 
later that he had read through every book he 
had heard of within fifty miles of the place 
where he lived. 

When living in Indiana he often worked as 
a hired boy for a well-to-do farmer named Josiah 
Crawford. Mr. Crawford owned a “Life of 
George Washington,” a very precious book at 
that time. The book-hungry boy borrowed it 
to read. 

One night he lay by the wood fire reading until 
he could no longer see, and then he climbed the 
ladder into the attic and went to bed under the 
eaves. Before going to sleep he placed the book 
between two logs of the walls of the cabin for 
safe-keeping. 

During the night a heavy rain-storm came up. 
When young Lincoln examined the book in the 
morning it was water soaked. The leaves were 
wet through and the binding warped. 

He dried the book as best he could by the fire 
and then in fear and trembling took it home to 
Mr. Crawford. After telling the story he asked 
what he might do to make good the damaged 
property. 

To his relief, Mr. Crawford rephed: “Being 

25 


as it’s you, Abe, I won’t be hard on you. Come 
over and shuck corn for three days and the book 
is yours.” 

Shuck corn for three days for such a book as 
that ! It was nothing ! He felt as if Mr. Craw- 
ford was making him a wonderful present. 

After reading the book he often talked about 
what he was going to do when he grew up. 

Mrs. Crawford, who was very fond of him, 
would ask, “Well, Abe, what do you want to be 
now?” 

“I’ll be president,” he would declare. 

She would laugh at him, and say, “You would 
make a pretty president with all your tricks and 
jokes, wouldn’t you?” 

“Oh, I’ll study and get ready, then the chance 
will come,” he would reply. 


Truth is the highest thing a man may keep. 

— Cervantes. 


III. The Young Storekeeper 
At the age of twenty-one Abraham Lincoln 
became a store clerk for a short time. He was 
then six feet four inches tall and very strong. 
He could out-run, out-jump, out-wrestle, and 
26 


out-fight any man in the rough pioneer country 
where he lived. 

While the people respected his great strength, 
they liked him still more for his honesty in little 
things. 

One evening, on reckoning up his accounts, he 
found that in making change he had taken six 
cents too much from a customer. On closing 
the store he immediately walked three miles to 
the farmhouse where the customer lived and re- 
turned the six cents. Then he walked the three 
miles back. 

On opening the store one morning, he dis- 
covered a four-ounce weight on the scales. He 
remembered that his last customer the evening 
before had purchased half a pound of tea. He 
saw at once that he had given her short weight. 
He measured out the four ounces still due, locked 
the store, took a long walk to the customer’s 
house, and explained the shortage. 

These were little things, but Honest Abe could 
not rest until he had made them right. 


This above all: to thine own self be true; 
And it must follow, as the night the day. 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

— Shakespeare. 


27 



DRY RAIN AND THE HATCHET 

I. How Dry Rain Got His Name 

In the Indian country there was once a great 
drought. The land was very dry. No rain had 
fallen for many weeks. The crops and cattle 
were suffering from thirst. 

Now, in one of the tribes there was a young 
Indian who had a very high opinion of himself. 
He pretended that he could foretell what was 
about to happen, long before it really did 
happen. 

So he foretold that on a certain day a 
high wind would blow up, bringing with it a 

28 


great rain-storm with plenty of water for every- 
body. 

The day came. Sure enough a high wind did 
blow up, but it brought only a violent sand-storm 
without a drop of rain, and it left the land 
drier than before. 

So the Indians laughed at the young man who 
foretold before he knew and called him “Dry 
Rain.” 

Although he afterwards became a noted chief, 
he never lost his name. 

II. Dry Rain Goes Trading 

One day, when he was an old man. Dry Rain 
rode in from his village to the white man’s trad- 
ing post. 

The old chief purchased a number of articles, 
among them some jack-knives and six hatchets. 
The hatchets were for his six grandsons. 

The trader packed all the purchases in a big 
bundle. Dry Rain paid for them, mounted his 
pony, and rode home to his village. 

When he opened his package, he noticed 
that the trader by mistake had put in seven 
hatchets. 

But Dry Rain said nothing. “That extra 
one will do for me,” he thought. “The white 

29 


men stole the Indian’s land and never gave it 
back; I wUl keep the hatchet. ” 

At the same time he did not feel that this would 
be doing just right. 

In his wigwam that night he lay half-asleep 
and half-awake, thinking about the hatchet. 

He seemed to hear two voices talking, in a tone 
so earnest that it sounded almost quarrelsome. 

“Take back the hatchet,’’ said one voice. 

‘ ‘ It belongs to the white man. ’ ’ 

“No! do not take it back,’’ said the other 
voice. “It is right for you to keep it.” 

Back and forth the voices argued and argued, 
for hours it seemed to the old chief. 

“Take it back!” “Keep it!” “Take it 
back ! ” “Keep it ! ” “Take it back ! ” ' 

At last he could stand the dispute no longer, 
and sat up in bed wide awake. 

“Stop talking, both of you,” he commanded. 
“Dry Rain will take back the hatchet in the 
morning.” 

Then he lay down again, pulled the blanket 
over his head, and was soon fast asleep. 

At daylight he arose, mounted his pony, rode 
back to the trading post, and returned the hatchet 
to the trader. 

“Why did you bring it back?” asked the 

30 


trader. “I had not missed it, and perhaps never 
should have known you had it.” 

“But Dry Rain would know,” replied the 
old chief. “The two men inside of him talked 
and quarreled about it all night. One said, 
‘Take it back!’ the other said, ‘No, keep it.’ 
Now they will keep still and let him sleep.” 

QUESTIONS 

Do you think that most white men set the Indians a good 
example in being honest? 

Dry Rain wanted very much to have the extra hatchet, 
didn’t he? 

But was he comfortable when he decided to keep it? 

Do you think the white trader would ever have found 
out? 

But who would have known? 

Did two voices inside of you ever talk when you were 
tempted to keep something which didn’t belong to you? 

MEMORY GEMS 

Truth will ever rise above falsehood, like oil 
above water. 


For whatever men say in their blindness. 
And spite of the fancies of youth. 

There is nothing so kingly as kindness. 
And nothing so royal as truth ! 

31 



THE SEVEN CRANBERRIES 

Mr. Dingle was not looking toward Helen. 
He was busy grinding coffee in another part of 
the store. 

How pretty the bright red cranberries looked ! 
Helen wished she had some. 

Her httle hand crept over the edge of the 
barrel, and very quickly seven bright shining 
cranberries were in Helen’s pocket. 

"What can I get for you, little girl?” asked 
the storekeeper. 

“A pound of butter, please,” Helen answered. 
She did not look him in the eye; instead, she 
looked out of the window. 

It took Helen but a short time to reach home. 

32 


She laid the butter on the table and put the 
seven cranberries in a cup. 

“Aren’t they pretty!’’ she whispered. “I 
think I’ll play they are marbles.’’ 

She found a piece of chalk and drew a circle 
on the floor. Then she began the game. 

“What pretty bright cranberries!” exclaimed 
her mother coming into the room. “Where 
did you get them, dear? ” 

How Helen wished that her mother had not 
asked that question. 

“Did Mr. Dingle give them to you?” her 
mother asked. 

How Helen wished she could say yes! “But 
after all,” she thought, “that was not stealing, 
so I’ll just tell mother. She knows I would not 
steal.” 

“No, mother,” she answered, shaking her 
head. “I took them out of the barrel.” 

“You did!” exclaimed her mother. “Why, 
my dear, did you not know that was wrong?” 

“I didn’t take many — only seven,” Helen 
said; “and Mr. Dingle had thousands and thou- 
sands of them !” 

“Come here, dear, and sit on my knee,” said 
her mother. “I want to ask you something.” 

When Helen came she asked, “When you took 
3 33 


the cranberries, was Mr. Dingle looking toward 
you?” 

“No, he was busy,” answered Helen. 

“Would you have taken them if he had been 
looking at you?” 

Helen hung her head. 

“I do not think you would, dear,” said her 
mother. “Of course, you did not think for 
a moment of steahng from Mr. Dingle.” 

“I will never do such a thing again, mother,” 
promised the little girl. “I am sorry.” 

“Are you sorry enough to take those berries 
back, and tell Mr. Dingle what you did? ” asked 
her mother. 

That was quite different from being sorry in 
their own kitchen. 

“Oh, mother, I don’t want to do that!” said 
Helen, tears coming into her eyes. 

“That is because you are ashamed, Helen,” 
said her mother; “but I hope you will always be 
brave enough to do the right thing.” 

“Will you go with me to the store, mother?” 
asked Helen. 

“No,” said her mother, “I want you to go 
by yourself. But I can help you this much: I 
can telephone Mr. Dingle that you are coming.” 

Helen sighed. “I wish I had been, and was 

34 


back again,” she said, picking up the pretty 
berries. 

‘‘Well, well!” said Mr. Dingle, when Helen 
handed him the berries, “it takes a pretty brave 
girl to own up. If you were a boy, little girl, 
I would ask you to come and work for me this 
next vacation. ” 


QUESTIONS 

Why do you think Helen felt so uncomfortable when she 
was asking for the butter, and later when her mother asked 
her where she got the cranberries? 

Do you suppose Mr. Dingle would ever have known about 
the seven cranberries? 

But who would always have known? 

Why was it that Helen did not think taking the cran- 
berries was really stealing’^? 

What did Helen’s mother think about it? 

What do you think about taking even the smallest thing 
that doesn’t belong to you? 


We sow a thought and reap an act ; 

We sow an act and reap a habit ; 

We sow a habit and reap a character ; 

We sow a character and reap a destiny. 

— Thackeray. 


35 



THE DONKEY’S TAIL 

“Can you see?” asked Hilda Wells, as she 
tied the handkerchief over Fred Warren’s eyes. 

“You might make it a little tighter,” answered 
Fred. 

So Hilda tightened the blindfolder. 

“Now, we’ll turn you around three times, 
start you straight, — and you pin the tail on the 
donkey,” she said. 

The “donkey” was a large picture of that 
animal fastened to the wall at the opposite side 
36 


of the room. It was minus its paper tail, which 
Fred held in his hand. 

“Don’t you peep!” cried all the children. 

“We’ll see if he can do better than I did !” de- 
clared Frank Bennett. So far the prize belonged 
to Frank. Fred’s turn came last. 

After being turned around three times, Fred 
walked straight up to the picture and pinned the 
tail exactly in place. 

“Oh, Frank, that is better than you did by 
two inches ! ” said Hilda. 

“Fred gets the prize!” cried the excited chil- 
dren, as Fred pulled off the handkerchief. 

Then httle Marie, Hilda’s sister, handed him 
a pearl-handled penknife. 

Fred made little of his prize, and as soon as 
the children stopped examining it, slipped it 
into his pocket. 

After that, Mrs. Wells served ice-cream and 
cakes. 

On the way home Frank asked Fred to let him 
see the prize. “It is a beauty of a knife, Fred,” 
said he. “Until you tried, I thought I should 
be the winner.” 

Fred muttered something about having too 
many knives already. 

Frank opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Too 

37 


many ! ” he exclaimed. ‘‘I wish I had too many ! 
I’ve never had more than one, and that was fath- 
er’s when he was a boy.” 

“Good night, Frank,” said Fred, suddenly 
swinging into a side street. “I am going to take 
a short cut home.” 

“Good night, Fred,” called Frank. 

“That’s a queer way for a fellow to act,” he 
thought, as he walked on alone. ‘ ‘ I wonder what 
is the matter with him.” 

Suddenly he heard footsteps, and in a mo- 
ment Fred had caught up with him. “Here, 
take it, I don’t want another knife,” he said, 
thrusting the prize into Frank’s hand. 

“Oh — oh, I don’t want your knife ! ” exclaimed 
Frank. 

“Well, I don’t want it, either!” said Fred. 
“It belongs to you, anyway; and I beheve 
you know it! I am almost certain you could 
see me peeping from under that handker- 
chief!” 

“I was not quite sure,” said Frank; “not 
sure enough to say anything about it, any- 
way.” 

“Well, if you don’t keep the knife I’ll throw it 
into the river/’ said Fred, running away as fast 
as he could. 


38 



HURTING A GOOD FRIEND 

This is the story of a boy who ruined a good 
book. A good book is always a good friend. 

He did not mean to — oh, no! But what of 
that — he did it, as you may read. 

His name was Max Green. One day Max bor- 
rowed a book from Tom Brown, a fine new book 
with a picture of a submarine on the cover. Tom 
had just received it as a birthday present from 
his uncle. 

That night Max sat down in a corner to read it, 
39 


Soon he came to the place where the submarine 
was getting ready to fire a torpedo. 

"Squeak!” went the book, as Max gave it 
a twist in his excitement. He did not hear the 
sound; he only saw the torpedo skimming 
through the water. 

"Crack!” went the book, as Max gave it a 
heavier twist. He did not notice that he was 
bending the covers farther back. He only knew 
that the torpedo was striking the bow of a big 
man-of-war. 

"Rip!” went the book down the middle, as 
Max gave it a harder twist with his hand. 

But Max read right on, for just then the man- 
of-war lurched over on its side as if it was getting 
ready to sink. 

In his excitement Max forgot all about what 
he was doing and twisted and bent the book back, 
cover to cover. 

' ‘ Stop — quick — oh ! oh ! It hurts ! You have 
broken my back — broken my back ! Oh ! — oh ! ’ ’ 
cried the book. 

Suddenly Max woke up and saw what he had 
done— but it was too late. He had broken the 
glue and stitches apart and the covers hung lim p. 

Just then his mother came in. 

"Look, mother — see what I have done to Tom 
40 


Brown’s book,” he confessed. “I am so sorry. 
It is such a good book. Can’t we glue it together 
again? ” 

“No,” said his mother, “it is ruined. Glue 
may help, but it will never be the same book.” 

“Oh, I am so sorry!” said Max. 

“Yes, Max, but being sorry will not make this 
book as good as it was when you borrowed it.” 

“I win make it right with Tom, mother. I 
win take my birthday money to buy him a new 
one.” 

“That is the right thing to do, Max,” 
answered his mother. 

QUESTIONS 

How is a good book a good friend? 

Suppose it had been his own book that Max ruined, 
would he have been treating it fairly? 

If you were a book, how would you want to be treated ? 

Do you know what holds a book together? Tell what 
you know about the way a book is made. 

Why should we be so careful of books? * 

MEMORY GEM 

For every evil under the sun. 

There is a remedy, or there is none. 

If there be one, try to find it ; 

If there be none, never mind it. 

41 



A SCHOOL WITHOUT A TEACHER 
What Might Happen if Books and Bells Could Talk 

The little schoolhouse was painted white, with 
green shutters. Over the front gable was a little 
old-fashioned belfry. In it swung a little old- 
fashioned school bell, for this was a country 
district school, with scarcely a house in sight. 

One bright September morning, the opening 
day of school, forty or fifty noisy children were 
drawn up in line, waiting for the bell to stop 
ringing. 

When the bell stopped, the children marched 

42 


inside and took their seats facing the teacher’s 
desk. 

“Order!” tapped the desk bell, and the room 
was suddenly still. 

The pupils looked to see who had tapped the 
bell, for the teacher was nowhere to be seen. 

They saw the new school-books piled on the 
platform and on the teacher’s desk — but where 
was the teacher? 

‘T am the new Spelling Book, full of hard 
words,” said the top book of the pile of spellers 
on the right-hand side of the platform. 

“I am the new Reader, full of good stories,” 
announced the top one of a stack of readers on 
the left-hand side of the platform. 

The pupils were startled. It was so quiet you 
could hear the clock tick. 

“I am the new Arithmetic, full of problems 
harder to crack than the hickory nuts in the 
woods,” spoke up a book on the teacher’s desk; 
“but why don’t you find your teacher? ” 

No one answered. The children only sat half- 
frightened, wondering what would happen next. 

“I am the new Language Book,” declared 
another book in the row on the teacher’s desk; 
“but who will teach you your mother tongue?” 

Everyone was stiU. Only the clock ticked on. 

4.3 


“lam the Geography; in my pages are maps 
of all countries. Who will give you permission 
to look?” It was the largest book of all that 
asked this question. 

The pupils stared opened-eyed over the desk 
at the teacher’s empty chair. They saw nothing 
but a sunbeam coming in through the window — 
full of particles of shining dust. 

“There must be somebody hiding,” spoke up 
one boy who could stand the strain no longer. 

“I am going to see,” said another boy braver 
than the rest. 

Getting up, he looked behind the desk and in 
the closet, but nothing was to be seen, not even 
a mouse. 

“Let us go out and look for the teacher,” he 
cried. With one accord they ran pell-mell out 
the door into the playground. 

An automobile was coming up the road at top 
speed. 

“Good morning, boys and girls,” the new 
teacher called, as the madhine pulled up. 

“Good morning, teacher,” they answered 
crowding about her. 

“I am sorry to be late the first day of school. 
There was some trouble at Rockland and the 
train was delayed. Mr. Jones drove me over.” 

44 


“We are glad you are here,” said an older 
girl as the machine drove off. “We went in and 
took our seats at nine o’clock, thinking you 
would come at any minute. All at once some- 
thing began to talk. ‘ I am the Speller full of hard 
words ; I am the Arithmetic ; I am the Reader ; 
I am the Geography; where is your teacher?’ 
the voices said. At first we thought somebody 
was hiding, but we could not find anyone. Then 
we got frightened and ran out.’’ 

“Well, isn’t that strange?’’ said the teacher 
laughing. “We will go in and see.’’ 

Together they trooped into the schoolroom. 
They looked everywhere ; nothing had been 
moved ; everything was just as usual. 

The teacher tapped the bell and everyone took 
a seat. 

“Well, children,’’ she said smiling, “we have 
already learned a very important lesson this 
morning, and that is that every school must have 
a teacher!’’ 


QUESTIONS 

( Teachers 

BooS 

Schoolhouse 

What other persons or things should a school have? 
45 


Can you have a school without a teacher? 
Why is the teacher so important? 

' Obedient 


What should the pupils be? 


What else should | 
the pupils be ? 


Clean 
Orderly 
Courteous 
Helpful 
Punctual 

. Anxious to learn. 

f Respectful to all connected with 
school. 

I Respectful to principal, to teacher, 
[ to janitor, to other children. 


MEMORY GEMS 

One rule to guide us in our life 
Is always good and true ; 

’Tis, do to others as you would 
That they should do to you. 


If wisdom’s ways you’d wisely seek, 

Five things observe with care ; 

Of whom you speak, to whom to speak. 
And how, and when, and where. 


Prize your friend for her own true heart. 
Though her dress be poor and mean ; 
The years, like a fairy wand, may change 
Cinderella to a queen. 

46 



OUR FLAG 

’Tis the Star-Spangled 
Banner, oh, long 
may it wave 
O’er the land of the 
free, and the home 
of the brave. 

As you came to 
^ school this morning, did you look up 

^ . at your flag floating from the top of 

the flag pole? Didn’t it look beautiful, 
waving and rippling in the sunshine 
against the blue sky? I won- 
' der if you have ever thought 
about what it means? 

You know flags are signs or em- 
blems, and they all have a meaning. 

There is no reading on our Ameri- 
can flag, yet everyone knows what it 
means as certainly as if there were 
letters all over it. 

Our flag means that the United 
States of America is the Land of the 
Free, and our government stands for: 

Liberty and justice for everybody; 

Education for all children ; 


Protection to all Americans at home or 
abroad. 

That is the reason so many people come to 
this country from countries where they do not 
have such help from the government. 

We Americans are very thankful for what 
our flag means. 

If we are good Americans we shall live up to 
every one of the following duties : 

To be true and faithful citizens ; 

To do our part to carry out the laws of the 
government ; 

To give, if necessary, our lives to protect our flag. 
SCOUTS’ PLEDGE 

I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the 
republic for which it stands; one nation indi- 
visible, with hberty and justice for all. 



48 


MY GIFT 

I give my head, my heart, my hand to God 
and my country; one country, one language, 
one flag.* 

FLAG DAY 

June 14 is the anniversary of the adoption 
of the flag, and that date is celebrated in many 
states as Flag Day. 

We can honor our flag 

By living for it ; 

By keeping our own honor bright ; 

By being brave ; (Red stands for valor.) 

By being clean ; (White stands for purity.) 

By being just ; (Blue stands for justice.) 

By being loyal ; 

By being ready to die for it, if we are called 
upon. 

Our state has one star in the blue of the flag. 

How shall we honor our star? 

How shall we show respect for our country 
and our flag? 

Since our flag means so much to us, we 
should respect it and love it with all 
our hearts. 

* At the word flag give the salute by raising the right hand to 
the forehead. 


49 


When the flag passes in a parade, people 
should, if walking, halt; or if sitting, 
rise and stand at attention and un- 
cover. 

The flag should never be allowed to drag 
on the ground nor be left out after dark. 
Did you know that it must never be 
used as an old rag? You see no matter 
how old or torn a flag becomes, it is 



RIGHT. 

CZZDIZDCIi 


WRONG. 


50 


still our flag and must be loved and 
honored always. 


My country ! ’tis of thee, 
Sweet land of hberty, 

Of thee I sing ; 

Land where my fathers died ! 
Land of the Pilgrim’s pride ! 
From every mountain side 
Let freedom ring ! 


“America is another name for Opportunity.” 
What do you understand by that? 



What does this picture of an open gateway bring to tour mind? 
51 



HOW OUR FLAG DEVELOPED 

The thirteen stripes in our flag represent the 
thirteen original colonies. 

Every star in the field of blue represents a 
state — “A star for every state, and a state for 
every star.” 

The flag brings a picture to our minds of 
all the things we are grateful for in our history, 
and of all the things we want our country and 
ourselves to be. 


52 


QUESTIONS 

What does our flag mean ? 

Are you not glad that you live in a country where all 
the people rule, instead of any one person or just a few 
people? 

Can you repeat the Scouts’ Pledge? (Standing.) 

Who was Betsy Ross? 

Can you form a tableau like the picture of Betsy Ross 
sewing the American Flag? 

Isn’t it almost as brave to live up to the red, white, and 
blue as to die for our colors? 

Why is our nation’s flag always hung higher in this 
country than the flag of any other nation ? 

Will you bring pictures of the flags of some other coun- 
tries to class? 

Do you think any other flag more beautiful than ours? 

Will you try to do all you can to honor our flag, and never 
to let the star of your state grow dimmer because of any 
act of yours? 


Hats off! 

Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, 
A flash of color beneath the sky : 
Hats off ! 

The flag is passing by ! 


53 


— H, H. Bennett. 



THE FLAG OF THE 
U. S. A. 

I belong to this flag ; 

This flag belongs to me, • 
Because brave men have 
lived and died 
To set its people free ; 
There are other flags in 
other lands, 

And more upon the sea. 
But the flag to-day of 
the U. S. A. 

Is the flag for you 
and me. 


If I belong to this flag. 

And this flag belongs to me. 

I’ll live or die, if there is need. 

To keep its people free ; 

No other flag has braver men. 

Either on land or sea. 

Than the flag to-day of the U. S. A. — 
The flag for you and me. 


54 


— J. E. F. 


THE AMERICAN FLAG 


When Freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 

She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there: 

She mingled with her gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies. 

And striped its pure celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then, from his mansion in the sun. 

She called her eagle-bearer down, 

And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land! 

Flag of the free heart’s hope and home! 

By angel hands to valor given! 

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us 
With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet. 

And Freedom’s banner streaming o’er us 

— Joseph Rodman Drake. 


55 



STORIES 

TEACHING 

KINDNESS 

TO 

ANIMALS 


THE TRUE STORY OF CHEESEY 

I. The Dog and the Policeman 
One snowy day shortly after Christmas, when 
carefully picking my way over the crossing at 
Market Street Ferry in Philadelphia, I almost 
ran into a big policeman. 

Just back of the big policeman was a little 
dog, and just back of the little dog was a little 
dog-house, and just back of the dog-house was 
a beautiful Christmas tree. 

66 * 


Wouldn’t it have made you stop in surprise to 
see a dog-house in the middle of the busiest street 
in your city or town? Wouldn’t you have won- 
dered why the big policeman had the little dog, 
and why the little dog had such a nice house 
there? And wouldn’t you have wondered and 
wondered whether the Christmas tree belonged to 
the dog or to the big policeman? It made me so 
curious that I did just as you would have liked to 
do — I asked the policeman to tell me the story. 

II. The Policeman’s Story 

“Good morning, Mr. Burke,” I said, for 
I knew the officer’s name. “Will you tell me 
about the little dog?” 

“Why,” answered the policeman with a smile, 
“don’t you know about Cheesey? Come here, 
Cheesey, the lady wants to see you!” 

Cheesey looked up at the speaker and wagged 
his tail. 

“Cheesey was born on Race Street pier,” 
went on the policeman. “Nobody knows how 
he got his living after his mother died ; but one 
thing is sure, he was not treated very kindly by 
the men who loaded the boats and swept the 
wharves. To this day Cheesey growls at the 
sight of one of those men. 

57 


“After a while Cheesey found a little play- 
mate, but the playmate was run over by a fire 
engine. All night long Cheesey lay in the spot 
where his little mate had been killed. 

“Weary and lonely and hungry, he crept back 
to the old cheerless corner of Race Street pier, 
which was the only place he knew as home. 

“There he lay with his head on his paws, not 
noticing anything until one of the men kicked 
him out of the way. 

“Cheesey ran out of the pier and down Dela- 
ware Avenue, not knowing where he was going; 
but he went just the right way, for he ran into 
Officer Weigner, one of the four of us who watch 
this crossing. , 

“He spoke kindly to the little fellow, and gave 
him something to eat. 

“From that time, Cheesey seemed to think 
he belonged to the policemen on this crossing. 
Then we gave him his name.” 

III. Cheesey’s Christmas Presents 

“Cheesey had no place to sleep,” went on 
the pohceman after seeing some people safely 
across the street, “except on a pile of bags in the 
ferry house. He seemed so cold that I asked 
Charley, one of the workmen in the ferry, if he 

58 


could not knock together some packing boxes 
for the little fellow. 

“Charley did the best he could, but I must say 
he made a sorry looking dog-house. 

“One day, just before Christmas while I was 
on duty, Mr. Sheip, of the Sheip Box Factory, 
happened to notice the box Charley had knocked 
together. 

“‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘is that the best you 
fellows can do? ’ 

“‘Why, Mr. Sheip,’ I replied, ‘we are not 
box-makers, you know. ’ 

“‘That’s so!’ he said. ‘I’ll have a dog- 
house made in the factory!’ and on Christmas 
day this beauty of a dog-house came. Have you 
noticed the label on it? ” 

I read the painted black letters on the large 
white label: 


Merry Christmas 
to 

Cheesey 

from 

Officers Burke, Dougherty, 
Kunzig, and Weigner. 


59 


"It pleased us so,” went on the officer, "that 
we bought a Christmas tree and many people 
helped us trim it. 

"A good many people brought presents for 
Cheesey. One lady from Camden brought a 
feather pillow; another lady brought a piece 
of meat. That dog could have seventeen meals 
a day if he could hold them — couldn’t you, 
Cheesey?” 

The little dog wagged his tail, turned around 
twice, then went into his house. After thanking 
the officer I went on my way, made happier for 
all my life because of the true story of Cheesey. 

THE CHAINED DOG 

’Twas only a dog in a kennel. 

And little the noise he made. 

But it seemed to me, as I heard it, 

I knew what that old dog said: 
"Another long day to get over! 

Will nobody loosen my chain. 

Just for a run in the meadow. 

Then fasten me up again?” 

— Selected. 

Through life it’s been a comfort to me — 
My little dog’s loving sympathy. 

60 


QUESTIONS 

Do you think the officers were repaid by knowing they 
had made Cheesey happy? 

Does Cheesey remind you a little of Cinderella? Who 
were the fairies in Cheesey^s life? 

What might have happened to Cheesey if the officers 
had not been kind? 

Did you ever own a dog? 

Can you tell some story showing your dog^s intelligence or 
bravery? 

What is the kindest thing to do for an animal which is 
suffering if you cannot take care of it or feed it? 

Do you know the address of the S. P. C. A. in your city? 

Did you know that sometimes dogs are thought to be 
mad when they are only very thirsty? 

Sometimes dogs have been treated unfairly and are cross; 
so it is best not to pat a strange dog’s head. 

Do you realize that a dog is the only animal which makes 
people its companions and playmates? 

How should we treat dogs? 


MEMORY GEM 

If I can stop one heart from breaking, 

I shall not live in vain; 

If I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain. 
Or help one fainting robin to its nest again, 

I shall not live in vain. 

61 



LITTLE LOST PUP 

He was lost! — not a shade of doubt of that; 

For he never barked at a slinking cat, 

But stood in the square where the wind blew raw, 
With drooping ear and a trembling paw. 

And a mournful look in his pleading eye. 

And a plaintive sniff at the passerby. 

That begged as plain as tongue could sue, 
“Oh, mister, please may I follow you?” 

A lorn wee waif of tawny brown 
Adrift in the roar of a heedless town. 

Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin 
Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in. 

Well, he won my heart (for I set great store 
On my own red Brute- — who is here no more). 
So I whistled clear, and he trotted up. 

And who so glad as that small pup? 

62 



Now he shares my board, and he owns my bed, 
And he fairly shouts when he hears my tread. 
Then, if things go wrong, as they sometimes do. 
And the world is cold and I’m feeling blue. 

He asserts his rights to assuage my woes 
With a warm red tongue and a nice cold nose. 
And a silky head on my arm or knee, 

And a paw as soft as a paw can be. 

When we rove the woods for a league about, 
He ’s as full of pranks as a school let out; 

For he romps and frisks like a three-months’ 
colt 

And he runs me down like a thunder bolt. 

Oh, the blithest of sights in the world so fair 
Is a gay little pup with his tail in the air! 

— Arthur Guiterman. 



63 



Picture op red cross army dogs — ^\Vonderfttl dogs of mercy. Such 

DOGS HAVE rescued THOUSANDS OF WOUNDED AND HELPLESS SOLDIERS. 
How SHOULD intelligent animals like THESE BE TREATED? 

64 








What would the big dog say if he could talk? 
Write a story about this picture. 


THE HUNTING PARTY 


Mrs. Pussy, sleek and fat, 

With her kittens four. 

Went to sleep upon a mat 
By the kitchen door. 

Mrs. Pussy heard a noise ; 

Up she sprang in glee. 

“Kittens, maybe it’s a mouse — 
Let us go and see.” 

Creeping, creeping, soft and low. 
Silently they stole. 

But the little mouse had crept 
Back into its hole. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Pussy then, 

“ Homeward let us go; 

We shall find our supper there. 
That I surely know.” 

Home went hungry Mrs. Puss 
With her kittens four. 

Found their supper on a plate 
By the kitchen door. 


66 


— Selected. 


QUESTIONS 

What do you think of people who do not care for and 
feed the cats they own? 

Do you know that a cat that is well cared for, and kept 
in the house at night is not likely to catch birds, because 
cats catch birds in the early morning and at twilight? 

What do you think of people who move away from a 
place and leave their cats behind? What will become of 
the cats? 

What should people do with cats they do not care to take 
away? Do you know where the nearest S. P. C. A. office is? 

What good service does the cat do for people? 

Why are rats and mice dangerous to our health? 

How many toes has a cat on front paws? On back paws? 

Which way does the fur lie on the under side of the legs? 


THE LOST KITTY 

Stealing to an open door, craving food and meat, 
Frightened off with angry cries and broomed 
into the street ; 

Tortured, teased, and chased by dogs, through 
the lonely night, 

Homeless little beggar cat, sorry is your phght. 

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 


QUESTIONS 

If you cannot care for or feed a stray cat, what is the 
kindest thing to do? 

How does it save the birds to see that stray cats either 
are given a home or are taken to a cat refuge? 

67 



I have a little kitty, 

Just as cute as she can be ; 

But my! she is peculiar! 

For she eats her catnip tea ! 

After every meal she eats 
She tidies up her head, 

And washes carefully enough; — 

But she never makes her bed! 

I’m told a kitty cannot talk. 

But my kitty every day 
Tells me that she loves me 
When we are at our play! 

Yes, she tells me very plainly 
And I will tell you how, — 

I ask, “Who thinks a lot of me?” 
She answers, “Me! Me — ow!” 

— E. F. 


68 


POOR LITTLE JOCKO 


I. 

On the porch of a comfortable old house, 
shaded by fine trees, a group of young girls were 
gathered around a small table, sewing. 

Suddenly the harsh notes of a hand-organ 
came to their ears, disturbing the peaceful still- 
ness of the summer afternoon. 

Marion Johnson, who was visiting her cousins, 
laid aside her work and listened. 

“Why, I do believe it is the very same man 
that came to our town a week ago,” she 
exclaimed. “He had with him a poor, miser- 
able looking monkey, which he called Jocko.” 

Just then they saw the organ-grinder, with 
the monkey perched on the organ, coming 
up the village street. Seeing the girls on the 
porch, he turned up the walk. 

“I think I shall call Aunt Kate,” remarked 
Marion, rising and going into the house. 

Aunt Kate could always be depended upon to 
help any dumb creature needing a friend. 

Aunt Kate’s face lost its usual look of quiet 
good humor, as she glanced over the porch rail- 
ing and saw a tall swarthy man at the foot of the 

69 


steps, carelessly turning the handle of a small 
squeaky organ. 

Keeping time to the music, a weak little 
monkey danced very wearily. When his steps 
dragged he was brought up quickly with a sharp 
jerking of the chain which was fastened to his 
collar. 

A cap was held on his head by a tight rubber 
band which passed under the chin. His gaudy 
dress was heavy and warm and seemed to weigh 
down his tired limbs. 

Now and then, when he dared. Jocko laid a 
tiny brown hand on the tugging chain in an 
effort to ease it. With an appealing look he 
glanced up at his master, as if trying to make 
him understand how painfully the collar was 
cutting ’his thin neck. 


II. 

Aunt Kate ’s mild blue eyes almost flashed as she 
motioned to the organ-grinder to stop playing. 

“You no hka music?” he asked brokenly, 
glancing up at her in some surprise. 

“Yes, that is right,” she answered, speaking 
very slowly and distinctly. 

“We do not like the music; and we do not 
like to see that poor monkey dance ; and, above 

70 



71 








all, we do not like to see you hurting his neck by 
pulling that chain.” 

The look of sullen anger which came over the 
man’s face quickly disappeared when he saw 
the coin in Aunt Kate’s hand. 

'T will give you this,” she said, holding up 
the piece of money, “if you will stay here and let 
Jocko rest for one hour. ’ ’ 

The organ-grinder smiled and sat down on 
the steps as a sign of agreement. 

At first. Jocko could scarcely believe that he 
might rest his weary little legs and feet. After a 
while, however, he threw himself at full length 
upon the porch floor as some worn out child 
might have done. 

Marion was left on guard to see that he was 
not disturbed when the others went to get food. 

When they returned they found Jocko rest- 
ing on a soft cushion, a comfort his httle body 
had never known before. 

Only after being promised more money did 
the organ-grinder permit Marion to take off 
Jocko’s hard leather collar, underneath which 
she had discovered sores. 

She bandaged the tiny neck with soft linen 
spread with salve. She took off his cap, too, 
with its tight-cutting band. 

72 


When water was brought, Jocko drank with 
pitiful eagerness. Many hours had passed since 
he had had a drink, and his throat and lips were 
parched. He ate the food they offered him like 
a wild creature, for he was very hungry. 

Every once in a while he would glance at the 
organ-grinder as though he feared punishment. 

When the hour was up, the organ-grinder 
would stay no longer. As his master led him 
away, Jocko lifted his hat, just as if he wanted to 
thank Aunt Kate and the girls for their kindness. 

“I never knew before,” said Marion, “how 
cruel it is to expect little monkeys to live such 
unnatural lives. I do hope the man will be more 
kind to Jocko after this.” 

— Mary Craige Yarrow — Adapted. 


QUESTIONS 

Why didn’t the girls and their aunt like to see the little 
monkey dance? 

What did they enjoy seeing it do? 

Have you ever been very, very tired? 

Can you imagine how you would feel if some giant would 
not let you rest? 

What kind of life is natural for monkeys? 

Did you ever give a penny to an organ-grinder with a 
monkey? 

If everyone stopped giving money to men who use mon- 
keys for begging, how would it help the little monkeys? 

73 


ROBIN REDBREAST 

“Cheer up! Cheer up!” sings Robin Red- 
breast every morning. “Listen to me! Listen 
to me! Oh, excuse me! I see, I see a feast!” and 
down he hops, hops, hops to the spot where he 
sees a nice fat worm wiggling out of the ground. 

Perhaps it is an earthworm, perhaps it is a 
worse worm ; but if it is an earthworm, you will 
have fun watching Robin. 

He seizes the worm with his bill, then braces 
his feet against the earth, and pulls and pulls 
with all his might. 

Out comes the worm with such a jerk that 
Robin almost topples over; but he doesn’t. He 
either eats the worm or flies away with it to his 
hungry little birdies. 

Down he drops it into one of the wide open 
mouths in the nest. 

Do you know how many earthworms one baby 
robin can eat in one day? 

A man who loves birds once counted the 
worms that one pair of robins fed to their little 
ones, and found that each little robin ate sixty- 
eight earthworms in one day. 

Sixty-eight earthworms if placed end to end 
would measure about fourteen feet. Just t hink 

74 


what busy lives Mr. and Mrs. Robin Redbreast 
live, and how they love their little ones. 

Robins eat many other kinds of worms besides 
earthworms, and they eat insects, too. They 
work hard to feed their babies, and in this way 
they do a wonderful thing for us, for the insects 
they eat would destroy the plants which we need. 

You know bread really grows on tall grasses 
called wheat and rye, and oatmeal grows on a 
grass called oats. 

There are millions of insects which like wheat 
and rye and oats as much as we do, and they 
would eat up all the crops if it were not for the 
birds that eat the insects. Now you can see 
why we call the birds our friends. 

WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN? 

Who killed Cock Robin? 

No; it was not the sparrow with a bow and 
arrow. No — more likely a boy with an air rifle 
killed him, or a man with a gun who did not 
know what a wicked thing he was doing. 

He did not know that he had killed one of 
his best friends. 

He did not know that without the work of 
beautiful Robin Redbreast and other birds the 
world might go hungry. 

75 


What if robins do eat a few cherries? They 
like mulberries better. A wise farmer plants a 
Russian mulberry tree for the robins, and the 
mulberries save the cherries. 

QUESTIONS 

Do you know that millions of men and boys hunt and kill 
birds ‘‘for fun’’ every year? 

Do you know that millions of birds are killed each year 
to be used in trinmiing women’s hats? 

How many different birds can you name? 

Can you tell the kinds of food each of them eats? 

Do you know what kinds of nests they build? 

What do you think of people who kill robins? 

Have you ever placed food in a sheltered place for birds 
in winter when it is hard for them to find a living? 



76 


MY FRIEND, MR. ROBIN 

When I was only about six years of age, a 
Robin Redbreast that we used to feed got so 
tame that he would fly in through the window 
to our breakfast table. 

In the spring he delighted us by bringing 
a small family of Roblings to the window sill 
of the room as if to introduce them to the 
people who had helped him through the hard 
winter! 

Another special bird that I remember was a 
one-legged sparrow that used to be among the 
birds that came when we were living in Buck- 
ing-ham-shire. We always called him “Timber- 
toes.” 

He came to us for two or three winters, so 
that, even with but one leg, he must have picked 
up a living somehow. 

— Little Folks. 


A WINTER MENU FOR BIRDS 

Crumbs of bread swept off the breakfast table. 
Morsels of fish and meat. 

Bones hung on strings from tree branches. 

Strips of bacon rind cut up into small bits. 

Small seeds of any kind. (These may be gathered 
in summer and saved.) 


77 


QUESTIONS 

Did you ever make a house for a little house wren? 

Little Jenny Wren is looking for a house every spring. 
She is a very friendly neighbor. Why not make her a 
house with a doorway too small for Mrs. Sparrow to squeeze, 
through? Make the opening only one inch wide. 

The meadow lark is one of our very helpful birds. Do 
you know the colors of the meadow lark’s feathers? 

IF ALL THE BIRDS SHOULD DIE 

Now, I want to tell you something that is 
worth knowing. It is this. If all the birds 
in the world should die, all the boys and girls in 
the world would have to die also. There would 
not be one boy or girl left alive ; they would aU 
die of starvation. 

And the reason is this. Most small birds live 
on insects ; they eat millions and millions of in- 
sects. If there were no birds, the insects would 
increase so that they would eat up all vegetation. 
The cattle, and horses, and sheep, and swine, and 
poultry would all die, and we should have to die 
also. 

Now, what I want all of you to remember, is 
that every time you kill one of these little 
insect-eating birds, it means that thousands of 
insects the bird would have eaten are going to 
78 


live to torment us ; and every time you take an 
egg from one of these little birds’ nests, that 
means one less bird to eat the insects. I do not 
like mosquitoes and insects. I think it is better 
that the birds should live and eat the insects, 
than that the birds should die and the insects 
eat us. 

— George T. Angell, 


QUESTIONS 

If a bird in a cage could speak, what do you think it would 
say? 

Can it tell you when it has no drinking water? 

Do you know that thirst is worse than hunger? 

Do you know that a person can do without food much 
longer than without water? 

What do birds do for farmers? 

What do they do for you? Don^t you think it would 
be foolish to destroy them? 

Do you think it right to keep wild birds in cages? Why 
not? 

Did you ever notice the beautiful doves or pigeons in 
the city? 

Why are they so tame? 


Don’t rob the birds of their eggs, boys, 
’Tis cruel and heartless and wrong; 

And remember, by breaking an egg, boys, 
We may lose a bird with a song. 

79 



FURRY 

My house is in a little grove of oak trees. 

Every winter I feed several gray squirrels with 
nuts. 

Every day about noon a big father squirrel 
comes and scratches on my kitchen window. 

There he sits on the sill, watching with bright 
eyes until I open the window and throw out some 
nuts. 

The more timid squirrels are seated on the 
ground looking up at the window. They catch 
the nuts and scamper away with them up to 
the tops of the trees. But not Furry. He takes 
nuts from my hands, and holding them in his 
little finger-claws, gnaws away the shell faster 
80 


than I can count ten. He acts quite like a little 
pig sometimes, for he asks for more than he needs. 

What do you think he does with them? 

He jumps down with one in his mouth and 
starts to dig. As soon as the hole is deep enough 
to suit him he buries the nut, packing the earth 
carefully over it to make it look as though the 
ground had not been disturbed. 

Then back he comes for another nut. 

If all the nuts he plants were acorns and he 
should forget to come and find half of them 
when he is hungry — how big my oak forest 
would be ! 



I. 

Have you ever fed a squirrel? 

Where have you seen the largest number together? 
Why were they not afraid? 


How do mother squirrels carry their babies from one 
place to another? 

How do mother cats carry their babies? 

If mothers did not love their babies so much, what would 
happen to all animals and people? 

Do we have to thank squirrels for some of our trees? 
Why? 

II. 

Did you ever wish your doll or rocking horse were alive ? 

Could anyone make them live ? 

Isn^t being alive the most wonderful thing you can 
think of? 

Doesn’t it make you glad to think of the little wild things 
living in the out-of-doors? 

Name some of the animals living in the woods. 

Would the country be as pleasant without them? 

Why should you dislike to hurt any of them? 

III. 

Do you know that if people do not stop hunting wild 
ducks, mountain sheep, deer, and other animals they may 
all be killed? 

Did you ever see a reindeer? 

Did you notice its beautiful eyes? 

Would it be fun to fight a baby? 

Are not many animals as helpless as babies when they are 
hunted? 

Don’t you think it is cowardly to shoot little helpless 
animals ^^for fun”? 


82 



THE GROCER’S HORSE 

I. The Careless Driver 

It was the week before Christmas. Everybody 
was ordering all sorts of good things to be sent 
home “just as soon as possible.” 

The grocer’s boy, John, was on duty early. 
Soon many baskets were filled with orders to be 
delivered. 

The horse was hurried out of the stable before 
he had quite finished his breakfast, and John 
soon had the baskets piled into the wagon. 

‘ ‘ Be lively, now, ’ ’ the grocer said. ‘ ‘ Get back 
as soon as you can. ” 

John jumped on the wagon, seized the whip and 
gave the horse a sharp cut to begin the day with. 


John kept the whip in his hand. If the horse 
held up his pace a minute to give himself a chance 
to breathe, another snap of the whip kept him 
on the run. 

At the different houses where he left the grocer- 
ies John rushed in and out as quickly as possible. 
In several places he was given fresh orders for 
articles that were needed. 

So the morning passed , and dinner time arrived. 
As John put the horse in the stable he could not 
help seeing that his breath came hard and fast, 
and that he was wet with sweat. 

“I guess it won’t do to give him any water, 
he is so hot,” John said, as he hurriedly put a 
scanty allowance of dry feed into the manger. 

The worn-out horse, trembling in every nerve 
with the fatigue of going hard all the morning, 
was almost choking with thirst. 

When John hurried in to his dinner, the first 
thing he asked for was something warm to drink. 
His mother gave him a cup of hot cocoa, and a 
good dinner, which he ate rapidly. Then off he 
started for the afternoon’s work. 

“Hurry up,” said the grocer as soon as John 
appeared. “Get out the horse and take these 
baskets; they are all rush orders.” 

“I went to Mrs. Bell’s twice this morning,” 

84 


said John. “I should think she might give all 
her order at one time and not keep us running 
there all day.” 

“I can’t help it. She is a good customer. 
Hurry up,” answered the grocer. 

John ran out to the barn. He certainly had 
meant to give the horse water before he started 
out again, but being hurried, he forgot it. In 
a few minutes, whip in hand, he was urging the 
tired, thirsty horse again over the road. 

Toward the close of the afternoon the horse 
began to hang his head. When John touched . 
him up with the whip he did not go any faster. 
When he stopped for the third time at Mrs. 
Bell’s house his legs were trembling and he closed 
his eyes as if he were going to sleep. 

Mrs. Bell looked out of the window and said 
to her Aunt Sarah, who was visiting her, ‘T think 
it is a shame for Mr. Rush to let that boy race 
his horse so all day. Every time he comes here 
the horse is in a sweat, and now he looks as if 
he would drop. It is wicked to work a horse so ! ” 

Her aunt replied, "Yes, the horses have to 
suffer for man’s thoughtlessness, and woman’s, 
too. He’s been here three times to-day, hasn’t 
he? ” But Mrs. Bell did not see the point of the 
reply. 


II. What Happened in the Bam 

It was seven o’clock before John put the horse 
in the stable. He remembered then that he had 
given him no water all day. As he did not want 
to be obliged to go out to the barn again he gave 
him a pail of ice-cold water, which the horse drank 
greedily. Then he put his supper before him 
and left him. 

He did not stop to rub down the aching legs 
or to give the faithful, exhausted creature any 
further attention. He just threw a blanket over 
him and closed the barn for the night. 

When John came to the store the next morning 
a very angry looking grocer met him at the door. 
“You can go home as soon as you like. I won’t 
have a boy that drives my horse to death,” he 
said. 

“Is the horse dead? ” asked John, turning pale. 

“It is not your fault if he is not dead. I have 
been up nearly all night with him, and I must 
get another horse to take his place until he is 
well.” 

“You told me to hurry every time I went out,” 
answered John. 

“Well, if you had any sense, you would know 
when a horse is used up and rest him,” replied 
the grocer. 


The horse died that day ; and the grocer, the 
boy driver, and Mrs. Bell were all to blame. 

The grocer ought not to have trusted a boy 
who had no sympathy for animals. Such a boy 
is not fit to drive and care for a horse. 

John was too selfish to give the horse time to 
breathe or to eat, and he did not care whether 
he was made comfortable in the stable or not. 

Mrs. Bell was thoughtless in giving her orders ; 
so she made the horse take many unnecessary 
trips to her house. 

So a willing, patient animal was neglected and 
worked to death, when with good care he might 
have hved many years and done faithful work. 
This all happened because the man, the boy, and 
the woman had never learned to be thoughtful 
and kind. 

— Mrs. Huntington Smith — Adapted. 

QUESTIONS 

What do you think of a man who is cruel to horses? 

Do you think people respect such a person? 

Did you ever hear that ^‘cruelty is the meanest crime 

How would you treat a pony? A horse? 

Did you ever read Black Beauty ^^? 

Which should you like better for a friend — a man who is 
kind to animals or a man who does not care how they are 
treated, just so that he gets his work done? 

When you are hurt, or sick, what do you do ? 

Can a horse or any animal tell a friend when he is sick? 

87 


A LETTER FROM A HORSE 

To the Lady of the House: 

Please order your supplies for the day 
early in the morning and all in one order. 
One daily trip to your door is enough. Two 
trips will wear me out twice as fast. 

Telephoning in an extra order doubles the 
work for the sales clerk and bookkeeper as 
well as for the driver and horse. This adds 
to the cost of all you buy. 

Hurry up orders make whippings for me. 

Please think of those who serve you, both 
people and horses. 

Your obedient servant, 

The DeUvery Horse. 

P. S. Some boys play with a whip over 
my back, not meaning to hurt me, but I 
cannot see the fun. It makes me nervous, 
and I get so tired by night from being 
worried that I tremble all over. I know 
boys do not think about that part. 

T. D. Horse. 


88 


A PLEA FOR THE HORSE 

Every horse will work longer and better if 
given three ample meals daily; plenty of 
clean, fresh water ; proper shoes, sharpened 
in shppery weather ; a blanket in cold 
weather; a stall six feet by nine feet or 
room enough to lie down ; a fly net in sum- 
mer and two weeks’ vacation each year. Do 
not use the cruel, tight check rein, or closely 
fitting blinders which cause blindness. 

SPARE THE WHIP 


QUESTIONS 

I. 

Wouldn^t you have much more work to do if there were 
no horses? 

Have you ever been very tired? 

Have you ever been very thirsty? 

Could you ask for a* drink of water? 

Can a horse ask? 

Don^t you suppose animals suffer terribly with thirst? 
What would a horse say if he could talk? 

Can you drive? 

Did you ever stop to think that it is because a horse^s 
mouth is so tender that the great strong animal does what . 
the driver wishes ? 

What do you think about jerking the reins? 

89 


Should we have as nice and comfortable houses or food or 
clothing if we had no horses? 

II. 

Is the horse a laborer? 

Has he a right to wages? What should they be? 

How many meals a day should a horse have? 

Can you imagine how it would seem if you were very, 
very hungry to be taken into a place where tables were 
spread with tempting food, and be driven past them without 
a bite? 

How do hungry horses feel when they see and smell 
apples and grass? 

Can you run as fast when you carry a heavy load as you 
can with a light load ? 

Can a horse ? 

Did you ever burn your mouth? 

Did you know that the steel bit, if put very cold in the 
horse’s mouth, will burn off the skin of the tongue and make 
the mouth sore — and perhaps prevent the horse from 
eating? 

Could the bit be easily warmed by dipping it into hot 
water, or breathing on it to take out the frost? 

Did you ever stop to think that every creature that is 
alive can suffer? 


III. 

Did you ever see a driver stop on a cold day and go into a 
restaurant for a bowl of warm soup or a cup of coffee? 

Did he put a blanket on the horse? 

Did you ever see a horse taken into a stable and given a 
warm meal on a cold day? 


90 


Did you ever see non-skid chain-shoes for horses? 

Do you know that burlap tied on the horses^ hoofs 
answers the same purpose, and costs only a little time and 
forethought ? 

The driver can best help this horse to get up by spreading 
a blanket or carpet over the icy roadway under his feet. 



91 




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■ '•> ■ 

' ' K 



PART II 

COMMUNITY OCCUPATIONS 

Stories About People Who Minister to 
Our Daily Needs 

These stories develop very simply, the fundamental ideas of 
service, dependence and interdependence, and reciprocal duties. 
They also teach incidentally the civic virtues of thoroughness, 
honesty, respect, etc., which form the subject matter of Part I 
of this book. 


93 



STORIES ABOUT PEOPLE^WHO PROVIDE 
US WITH FOOD 


THE BAKER 

I. An Early Call 

“Good morning, children,” said Mrs. Duwell, 
with a bright smile — so bright that it seemed as 
if the oatmeal she was stirring smiled too. 

“ Good morning, mother,” said Ruth. “My, 
but we are early this morning; it is only seven 
o’clock.” 

“Good morning, mother,” said Wallace, 
sleepily. “May I go back to bed again?” 

“Yes — after supper to-night,” replied his 
mother. “But I am glad you are up, for I am 
expecting a caller to knock at the door any 
moment.” 

“Who is it?” asked Ruth. 

“Oh, he is a very important man,” said her 
mother. “The strange part of it is that he never 
rings the front door bell, but always comes to 
the kitchen door and knocks.” 

“Please tell us who he is!” cried both the 
children. 


95 





The next time a loaf of bread comes to your house, will you 

LOOK INTO IT AND SEE IF YOU CAN FIND PICTURES LIKE THE ONES IN THE 
LOAF ON THIS PAGE? 

Here you will find pictures of harvesting, grain elevator, 

BAKERS AT WORK, AND BAKER WAGON. 




97 



"Yes,” went on Mrs. Duwell, "he is going to 
bring us the most useful and wonderful article 
sold in any store in this city.” 

"Oh, mother, tell us what it is,” begged the 
children. 

Just then there came a heavy knock at the 
kitchen door. 

"There he comes with it now, I believe,” 
whispered Mrs. Duwell. "Wallace, you may 
open the door.” 

Wallace ran quickly to the door and opened 
it, and there stood — the bread man. 

"Oh, mother,” exclaimed Wallace, "it’s only 
the bread man ! ” 

"Wallace,” said his mother, "speak more 
politely. Say ‘good morning,’ and take a loaf 
of bread and a dozen rolls.” 

“Now, mother, tell us who it is you expect, 
and what he is going to bring,” coaxed Ruth as 
soon as the door was closed. 

"Sit down and eat your breakfast, children, 
and I will tell you all about it.” 

When the children had been served, she went 
on: “The man I spoke about has just gone — 
he is the bread man. Isn’t a loaf of bread the 
most useful and wonderful article sold in any 
store in the city?” 


98 


'‘Why, mother, you are joking!” exclaimed 
Wallace. 

“No, indeed, I am not. Tell me, children, 
what must you have in order to live?” 

“Food,” replied Ruth. 

“Correct; and what article of food do we 
most need?” 

“Bread,” replied Ruth. 

“I believe that is so,” said Wallace, after 
thinking a moment. “I am going to talk with 
father about it when he comes home to-night.” 

“That is right; I think he will tell you some- 
thing about wheat fields and bake ovens,” said 
Mrs. Duwell. “Now run along to school or 
you will be late.” 


II. The Staff of Life 

“Father,” said Wallace, as the family sat 
about the supper table that evening, “a very 
important man called at the door this morning 
before we went to school.” 

“He did! Who was he?” asked Mr. Duwell. 

“Guess who,” said Ruth. “He left us the 
most wonderful and useful article sold in any 
store in this city.” 

“Who was he? What was it?” Mr. DuweU 
pretended to be very curious. 

99 


“ Guess ! See if you can guess ! ” 

“Let me see — oh, yes, it must have been ths 
mayor with a pound of butter.” 

“Guess again,” shouted the children. 

“A policeman, with a bottle of ink.” 

“No, guess again!” 

“I give it up.” 

“The bread man with that loaf of bread,” 
cried the children, pointing to the loaf on the 
table. 

“Well, well, I believe you are right, children,” 
said their father. “I certainly ought to have 
guessed, although I never thought of the bread 
man as a very important man before.” 

“Mother explained it to us this morning 
and said that you would tell us about the wheat 
fields and bake ovens,” spoke up Ruth. 

“I certainly will, children,” said their father, 
looking pleased. “Let me see; what is this 
made of?” he asked, picking up a piece of 
bread. 

“Flour.” 

“Yes, what kind?” 

“Wheat flour.” 

“Correct; so this is wheat bread. What 
other kinds of bread are there?” 

“Rye bread, bran bread, graham bread.” 

100 


“Yes; and in Europe bread is often made 
of oats and barley.” 

“Bread is sometimes called by another name,” 
said their mother; “did you ever hear of it? 
The staff ” 

“The staff of life,” finished the children. 

“I have an idea,” cried their father suddenly. 
“The Spotless Bakery is about three squares up 
the street. It is open in the evening. I know 
the manager. Let us go up there to see how 
they make bread.” 

“Hurrah for dad! Fine, come on!” cried 
Wallace. 

“I wish mother could go,” Ruth said. 

Her mother shook her head; “No, dear, Fll 
not go this time, but thank you for thinking 
of it.” 

“We won’t be long, mother, and we’ll tell you 
about everything when we get home,” said Wal- 
lace, as the three left the house. 

III. A Visit to the Bakery 

Soon they came to a big square building that 
seemed to be all windows, blazing with light. 
Over the door was a sign which read: 

THE SPOTLESS BAKERY 
101 


The children had often seen the building be- 
fore but had never been inside. 

They entered and their father asked to see the 
manager. Soon he came bustling in — a round 
smiling httle man, dressed in a spotless white 
suit. 

“Good evening, Mr. Duwell,” he said, shak- 
ing hands. 

“Good evening, Mr. Baker,” replied Mr. 
Duwell. “This is Ruth, and this is Wallace. 
They want to see how bread is baked, if you are 
not too busy for visitors.” 

“I shall be delighted to show you,” said Mr. 
Baker, smiling and shaking hands with both 
children; “this way, please.” 

Up a narrow winding stair they climbed to 
the sifting room on the fourth floor. 

“Every bit of flour starts on its journey 
through these sifters,” said the manager, point- 
ing to a row of box-like sifting machines. 

On the floor stood a huge pile of bags of 
flour. “Each one of these bags holds one hun- 
dred and forty pounds,” he explained. 

Passing down the stairway they saw the store- 
room piled high with more bags of flour. ‘ ‘ There 
are more than a thousand of them,” said the 
manager. 


102 


Then they came to the mixing room. Every- 
thing was white — the huge mixers were white; 
the walls were white; the bakers were dressed in 
white with odd round white caps; the dough 
trays were white — everything was white and 
spotless. 

“The flour from the sifters above comes 
through an opening in the floor into the mixers. 
Then the yeast and other things are added. 
The electric power is started. The great iron 
arms of the mixers turn, and twist, and mix 
until the whole mass becomes dough,” Mr. 
Baker explained. 

Along the wall were the dough trays in which 
the dough is set to rise. These trays remind 
one of huge white bath tubs on wheels, a httle 
wider and deeper and about twice as long as 
the ones in our houses. 

“How much will each one of those hold?” 
asked Wallace, pointing to the trays full of 
creamy dough. 

“Enough to make eleven hundred loaves,” 
answered the manager. 

“Why, there must be over forty of them,” 
said Wallace, looking down the long line. “ How 
many loaves do you bake in a day?” 

“ We have two more bakeries hke this, and 

103 


in the three we bake about one hundred thou- 
sand loaves a day — besides rolls and cakes.” 

“Why, I didn’t know there was so much bread 
in the world,” said Wallace. 

“Yes, my boy, there are bakeries almost 
everywhere. We supply only a small part of the 
bread needed in our large city.” 

As they went down the next stairway to the 
baking room, the pleasant odor of fresh-baked 
bread came up to meet them. 

“Here they are!” cried Ruth. “Look, Wal- 
lace, here are the bake ovens!” 

All that could be seen on one side of the room 
was a long row of black oven doors, set in a low 
white-tiled wall. 

On the other side of the room were large 
oblong tables, around which the white-uni- 
formed bakers were busily working. 

The dough was piled high on the tables. One 
baker cut it into lumps. Another made the 
lumps into pound loaves, weighing them on a 
scale. Another shaped the loaves and put them 
into rows of pans, which were slipped into large 
racks and wheeled to the oven door. 

“Look,” said Wallace, “they are going to 
put them in!” 

A baker put four loaves on a long-handled 

104 


flat shovel; then quickly opened the oven door 
and slipped them inside. 

“Look at the loaves!” cried Wallace, peeping 
into the open door. “Hundreds of them. 
How many will that oven hold?” 

“Six hundred,” said the baker, closing the 
door. 

“Look,” cried Ruth, “they are taking them out 
of that other oven. There comes our loaf for 
breakfast, Wallace.” 

Farther down the room a baker was hfting 
out of an oven the nut-brown loaves, bringing 
with them the sweet smell of fresh bread. 

“Isn’t it wonderful!” said Mr. Duwell, who 
was almost as excited as the children. “Notice 
how all the men work together, everyone doing 
his part to help the others.” 

“What are the baking hours?” he asked the 
manager. 

“From twelve o’clock, noon, till midnight, the 
ovens are kept going as you see them now,” said 
the manager. 

“We will go down one more flight to the 
shipping room,” he added, leading the way. 

There the finished loaves were coming down 
from the floor above on great racks to wait 
for shipping time. The space in front of the 
105 



shipping platform was crowded with wagons 
and automobiles. 

“Why, look!” said Wallace, “there are more 
wagons than automobiles. I should think you 
would use automobiles entirely.” 

“No,” replied the manager, “the automobiles 
are better for long distances; but for short dis- 
tances, where the driver has to start and stop, 
horses are much better. When the driver 
serves bread along a street he calls, 'Come 
106 




Dolly,’ or whatever the horse’ s name is, and the 
horse follows. The horse is alive; the automo- 
bile isn’t.” 

“When does the delivery start?” asked Mr. 
Duwell. 

“Soon after midnight.” 

After thanking the manager for his kindness, 
shaking hands all around, and bidding him 
good-night, the little party hurried home. 

All that night Wallace dreamed that he was 
putting loaves of bread into a big oven and lift- 
ing them out, brown and crisp, on the end of a 
long-handled shovel, loading them into a de- 
livery wagon, and driving all over the city, so 
that the people could have fresh bread for 
breakfast. 


IV. Where the Wheat Comes From 

At the table the next evening the children 
were still talking about their visit to the bakery. 

“Well, children,” said their father, “we 
followed the flour through the bakery to the 
loaf on our table. What do you say if we take 
a little journey to the place where the wheat 
comes from.” 

“Fine!” cried Wallace. “When can we 
start?” 


107 


‘'Right now, son, but it will be a stay-at- 
home journey,” said Mr. Duwell; and every- 
body laughed. 

“Let us see,” Mr. Duwell went on; “where 
did the thousand bags of flour we saw in the 
bakery come from?” 

“I know,” said Ruth. “I read ‘Minn.’ on 
one of the bags.” 

“Good, Ruth,” said her father. “That is 
what I call using your eyes. What does ‘ Minn.’ 
stand for?” 

“Min-ne-so-ta,” answered Wallace quickly. 

“Correct! Minnesota has great wheat fields, 
and so have North and South Dakota, 
Kansas, and many other states ; but the wheat 
in our loaf grew in Minnesota. 

“Wallace, step over to the bookcase and bring 
me the large book marked ‘W.’ ” 

Wallace brought it in a moment. 

Mr. Duwell opened the book and found some 
colored pictures. 

“Here we are,” said he. “What does it say 
under the first picture, Ruth?” 

“‘Reaping and Binding Wheat,’” read Ruth, 
bending over the book. 

“Right! There is our loaf growing, and there 
is the machine cutting the wheat and tying it 
108 


into bundles. What does it say under this pic- 
ture, Wallace?” 

“‘Threshing by Steam,’” read Wallace. 

“Yes — taking the wheat from the straw and 
chaff. What comes next, Ruth?” 

“‘Grain El-e-va-tor,’ ” read Ruth. 

“What is a grain elevator? ” asked Mr. Duwell. 

“Why, the place where the wheat is stored until 
needed.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Duwell, “some elevators are 
so large that they will hold nearly two million 
bushels of wheat.” 

“Plenty large enough to hold our loaf,” added 
Mrs. Duwell. 

“Now read again, Wallace.” 

“ ‘ In-te-ri-or of Flour Mill,’ ” read Wallace. 

“Yes, that is where they grind the wheat into 
white flour and remove the bran.” 

“Branisthe outside coat, isn’t it?” asked Ruth. 

“Yes, that’s it! Now read again.” 

“‘Train Being Loaded with Flour,”’ read 
Ruth. 

“Yes, that must be a picture of the fifteen 
car loads of flour used every week by the Spot- 
less Bakery.” 

“I never would have believed it took so many 
people to make a loaf of bread,” exclaimed Mrs. 

109 


Duwell. “Let me see: the plowman, the sower, 
the reaper, — go on, Wallace.” 

“The thresher, the miller, the train-men, the 
baker — ” added Wallace. 

“And the baker’s horses,” finished Ruth. 


QUESTIONS 

Have you ever visited a bakery? Tell about it. 

The Duwell family had a splendid time finding out things 
about their bread and rolls, didnT they? 

Why donT you try it with some of the other things you 
eat? 

Can you think of some ways of helping this very useful 
man, the baker? 

Suppose company had come unexpectedly to see your 
great-grandmother when she did not have bread enough 
baked. How would she have gotten bread for her guests? 

What would your mother do if the same thing happened 
to her? 


Praise God for wheat, so white and sweet, 
Of which we make our bread ! 

Praise God for yellow corn, with which 
His waiting world is fed ! 

— Edward Everett Hale. 


110 


BAKING THE JOHNNY-CAKE 

Little Sarah stood by her grandmother’s bed, 

“Now what shall I get for your breakfast?” 
she said. 

“You may get me a johnny-cake. Quickly go 
make it, 

In one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it.” 

So Sarah went to the closet to see 

If yet any meal in the barrel 
might be. 

The barrel had long been as empty 
as wind. 




111 


And not a speck of corn meal could she find. 
But grandmother’s johnny-cake, still she must 
make it, 

In one minute mix, and in two minutes bake it. 

She ran to the store, but the 
storekeeper said, 

“I have none. You must go to 
the miller, fair maid. 

For he has a mill, and he’ll put the corn in it. 
And grind you some nice yellow meal in a minute. 
Nowrun, or the johnny-cake, how will you make it, 
In one minute mix, in two minutes bake it?” 

Then Sarah she ran every step of 
the way. 

But the miller said, “No, I have 
no meal to-day. 

Run, quick, to the cornfield, just over the hill. 
And if any corn’s there, you may fetch it to mill. 
Run, run, or the johnny-cake, how will you 
make it. 

In one minute mix, in two minutes bake it?” 

She ran to the cornfield — the corn 
had not grown. 

Though the sun in the blue sky 
pleasantly shone. 

112 






“Pretty sun,” cried the maiden, “please make 
the corn grow.” 

“Pretty maid,” the sun answered, “I cannot do 
so.” 

“Then grandmother’s johnny-cake, how shall I 
make it. 

In one minute mix, in two minutes bake it?” 

But Sarah looked round, and she 
saw what was wanted; 

The corn could not grow, for no 
corn had been planted. 

She asked of the farmer to sow her some grain. 

But the farmer laughed till his sides ached again. 

“Ho ! ho ! for the johnny-cake, how can you make 

it, 

In one minute mix, in two minutes bake it?” 

The farmer he laughed, and he 
laughed very loud — 

“And how can I plant till the 
land has been plowed? 

Run, run, to the plowman, and bring him with 
speed ; 

He’ll plow up the ground and I’ll fill it with 
seed.” 

Away, then, ran Sarah, still hoping to make it. 

In one minute mix, in two minutes bake it. 

s 113 




The plowman he plowed, and the grain it was 
sown, 

And the sun shed his rays till the corn was all 
grown. 

It was ground at the mill, and again at her bed 
These words to kind Sarah the grandmother 
said, 

“Please get me a johnny-cake — quickly go make 

it, 

In one minute mix, in two minutes bake it.” 

From Child Life: A Collection of Poems” 

Edited by John Greenleaf Whittier. 



lU 


THE MILKMAN 

1. Before the Sun Rises 

“What do you think one of our lessons was 
about to-day, mother?” asked Ruth, coming in 
from school one afternoon. 

“I couldn’t guess,” said her mother. “What 
was it about?” 

“The milkman.” 

“The milkman,” repeated Mrs. Duwell in 
surprise; “that must have been interesting.” 

“Yes, we just talked. Teacher asked* ques- 
tions ; she asked if we liked bread and milk or 
cereal and milk, and said that they made an 
excellent breakfast. 

“What do you think, mother,” Ruth went on; 
“teacher told us that not many years ago the 
milkman came around with big cans of milk 
and measured whatever you wanted, a pint or 
a quart, into your pitcher or milk pail.” 

“Yes, that is true,” said Mrs. Duwell. “That 
is the way they did when I was a little girl. How 
did they come to change? Did your teacher 
tell you?” 

“People found that it was not san-i-ta-ry, 
teacher said. The milk was not always kept 
clean ; so the milkmen put it into pint and quart 

115 


V'.' 





The next time you drink a glass of milk think about what a long 

JOURNEY IT HAS TAKEN. 

The milk in the bottle in this picture came in a big can from the 
cow to the railroad station, on the train to the city dairy where 

IT WAS BOTTLED AND TESTED. It WAS THEN SENT OUT IN A LARGE AUTO 
TRUCK TO THE DELIVERY WAGON WHICH TOOK IT TO THE DUWELL FAMILY. 

Does the milk which you use take as long a journey as that? 

117 


bottles, with paper caps to keep out flies and 
germs.” 

“Did you find out where the milk comes 
from?” 

“Oh yes, from the farms. Teacher showed us 
pictures of cows ; some with tan and white coats 
— Jerseys ; and some with black and white coats 
— Holsteins, I think she said. I should love to 
see real cows.” 

“So you shall, dear, the next time we go into 
the country.- 

“I remember,” continued Mrs. Duwell, “hear- 
ing your grandfather say that when he was a 
boy he had to be out of bed before daylight, 
sometimes as early as three o’clock, and go out 
into the cold barn to milk the cows.” 

“Three o’clock in the morning!” exclaimed 
Wallace, who had just come in. 

“Yes; then he had to hurry into the kitchen 
for breakfast, then out again, hitch up old Dob- 
bin, load the milk cans on the wagon and drive 
to the nearest station to catch the milk train. 
He had to do all this by six o’clock — before 
most people in the city think of getting up.” 

“My, there wasn’t much fun in that,” said 
Wallace. 

“No, indeed. You remember the deep snow 
118 


in March last winter. I asked our milkman 
what time he started on his rounds. What 
do you think he said?” 

“Six o’clock,” replied Wallace. 

“Earlier, than that, son,” said Mrs. Duwell. 
“He laughed and said, ‘I have to load up and 
start by three o ’clock to serve all my customers 
before breakfast.’ ” 

“Yes,” added Ruth, “teacher told us about 
that and asked what would happen if the driver 
overslept and did not get over the route before 
breakfast.” 

“What did you answer?” 

“Why, that we might have to do without 
milk for breakfast.” 

“ Or we might have to wait for breakfast until 
eleven o’clock,” said Wallace. 

“Oh, Wallace,” cried Ruth, “I didn’t say 
that ! If we waited for breakfast until eleven 
o’clock we would be dreadfully late for school.” 

“And dreadfully hungry, too,” said Wallace. 
“I’m glad our milkman gets up on time.” 

II. Milk, from Farm to Family 

“Well, what I want to know is, where the 
Clover Leaf Dairy gets our milk from,” said 
Wallace. 


119 



“It is this way. The dairy wagon meets the 
milk train and takes the cans of milk to the • 
dairy. There they test the milk to see if it is pure 
and fresh. 

“Next they empty the milk into a big white 
tank and heat it to kill the disease germs. After 
quickly cooling the milk, they put it into bot- 
tles, and it saves the babies’ lives,” said Ruth 
almost without stopping to take breath. 

Her mother smiled and asked, “Did your 
teacher tell you the name of that work?” 

“Yes; but it was a long word, and I have for- 
gotten it,” answered Ruth. 

“Pas-teur-i-zing.” Her mother said it for 
her. 

“Yes, that’s it — pasteurizing. I could not 
120 



think. It kills all the bad germs so that the 
milk is safe for even the weakest babies. 

“ Teacher told us about a good man in New 
York,” Ruth went on, “named Mr. Straus, who 
■^ras sorry because so many babies died from 
drinking impure milk. He made it so that 
poor babies in New York could have pasteurized 
milk ; and then less than half as many died as 
before.” 

“Wasn’t that a noble thing to do,” said her 
mother. 

“Yes; our teacher says that almost everybody 
uses pasteurized milk now, and in this way thou- 
sands of babies’ lives have been saved. She 
says that we ought to be grateful.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Duwell; “we ought 
to be grateful to the milkman, the farmer, and 
everybody that helps to bring us pure milk.” 

QUESTIONS 

Would you like to get up long before daylight, on cold 
winter mornings to deliver milk for people^s breakfast? 

Tell some of the things you like that you could not have 
to eat if the milkman did not come. 

Have you ever visited a big dairy? 

Tell about it. 

Imagine you own a herd of cows in the country, and tell 
some of the things you would do in order to be sure to send 
good, pure, clean milk to the dairy. 

121 



THE GROCER 

I. The Old-time Grocer 

“Wallace, light another candle, please. I 
cannot see very well,” said Mr. Duwell as he sat 
smiling at the head of the dining table, with 
carving knife lifted ready to carve the roast. 

Wallace turned on another electric light, and 
everybody laughed. 

“That’s a good guess, son,” said his mother. 
“On my grandfather’s farm they always burned 
candles, and grandmother made them herself.” 

122 



“Made them herself!” exclaimed Ruth. 

“Yes,” replied her mother. “I have often 
seen the candle moulds. They looked like a 
row of tin tubes fastened together. The wicks 
were hung in the middle of the tubes, and the 
melted tallow was poured in around them. 
When the candles were hard and cold, they 
were slipped out ready for use.” 

“Your grandmother must have been smart. 
What relation was she to me?” asked Ruth. 

“Your great-grandmother, dear. She was 
‘smart,’ indeed. She made not only candles, 
but soap.” 

“Soap!” said Ruth in surprise. 

“Yes, and butter,” said Mrs. Duwell 

“Your great-grandfather was ‘smart,’ too,” 
said Mr. Duwell. “Why, Wallace, he butch- 
ered a pig or two, and sometimes a cow in the 
fall for the winter’s meat.” 

“Weren’t there any grocers or butchers?” 
asked Wallace. 

“Yes, indeed; your great-grandmother was 
the grocer, and your great-grandfather was the 
butcher for the family.” 

“But weren’t there any stores?” 

“Yes, the stores were in the big kitchen pantry, 
the cellar, and the ice-house.” 

123 


“I mean grocery stores like Paiker’s, and 
Wiggin’s,” explained Wallace. 

“No, until the towns and villages sprang up 
there were no stores such as we have now,” said 
Mr. Duwell. “You see, there were not many 
people to buy things in the early days, and they 
lived on farms many miles apart, so it did not 
pay anyone to keep a store. 

“Why is the grocery so useful to everybody?” 
he asked. 

“Because it sells food.” 

“That is it. You see, when enough people 
lived in one place to make a village or town, 
some one opened a store. Now, how did he 
get flour to sell?” 

“From the miller.” 

' ‘ Right — and potatoes ? ’ ’ 

“From the farmer.” 

“Yes, the miller brought flour and the farmer 
brought potatoes to the grocer for him to sell.” 

“And when grandma made more butter than 
she could use she sent it to the grocer,” added 
Mrs. Duwell. 

“Where did the grocer get his stock of brooms, 
Ruth?” asked her father. 

“From the broom-maker.” 

“That is the idea. All who grew or made 

124 


more things than they could use brought them 
to the grocer to be sold. So the grocer helped 
them and they helped him, and the people went 
to the store for their supplies. 

“You must remember, children,” went on Mr. 
Duwell, ' ‘ the old-fashioned country store was very 
different from Parker’s grocery around the corner. 
Besides groceries, it sold harness, horse blankets, 
hardware, shoes, and everything people needed.” 

II. The Modem Grocer 

“Suppose Wallace were a grocer, Ruth, how 
would you like his store to be kept?” asked her 
mother. 

“Clean — oh, so clean!” replied Ruth. 

“Yes, what else?” 

“Full of shelves with all the packages and 
bottles and other things in their places.” 

“How would you treat the people, Wallace?” 
asked Mrs. Duwell. 

“I would be very polite, and try to have every 
article they wanted fresh and good.” 

“That is right, and I know you would be 
honest and truthful.” 

“If you were that kind of grocer, Wallace,” 
said Mr. Duwell, “you would be of real service 
to the people.” 


125 



“What kind of customers would you like to 
have, Wallace?” asked Mrs. Duwell. 

“Oh, people who paid their bills on time and 
didn’t find too much fault,” answered Wallace. 

“Well,” said Ruth, “if you were anything 
like that, your customers would certainly call 
you The Spotless Grocer.” 


QUESTIONS 

Think of all the extra work your mother and father 
would have to do if there were no grocery stores. Is there 
one near your house? Are you glad? 

What kind of grocery store do you like? 

Wliat kind of grocer do you like to deal with? 

Try playing store, and pretend that your customers will 
not pay their bills and that the men from whom you buy 
come to insist on your paying them. Wbat will happen? 

If you were a real grocer, would you like that to happen? 

Can you think of some other ways you can help the 
grocer besides paying your bills promptly? 

126 


STORIES ABOUT PEOPLE WHO HELP 
CLOTHE US 


THE TAILOR 
I. The Accident 

Wallace was very proud of the new suit of 
clothes his father had just bought him. He 
wanted to wear it to school the first day after 
it came home. 

“If I were you I should keep it for best for a 
while, Wallace,” said his mother. “Your old 
suit is good enough for school for some time.” 

“But Tom Dolittle is going to wear his new 
suit to-day; he told me so.” 

“It doesn’t seem wise to me, Wallace — but 
wear it if you think best.” 

“All right, mother,” said Wallace as he 
skipped away to put it on. 

A few minutes later his mother stood watching 
a very happy boy running down the street. 

“Mother!” called Wallace, walking slowly 
upstairs when he came in from school. 

“Here I am, boy, in the sitting room,” 
answered his mother. 


127 


“Just see what has happened to my new suit ! ” 

“Have you torn your jacket?” 

“No, it’s not torn,” he said, coming into the 
room. “It is worse than that. I’m afraid it 
is ruined. Look! Look!” 

“Why, child,” exclaimed Mrs. Duwell, “how 
did this happen? Let us go into the bathroom 
to wipe off a little of the mud. That may 
prevent stains.” 

She hardly knew the mud-splashed boy who 
stood before her, so very unlike the spick and 
span Wallace of the morning. 

“Well, dear, don’t worry too much,” she said. 
“We will see what the tailor can do for us.” 

“ Do you suppose he can make it clean enough 
for me to wear?” asked the boy eagerly. 

“I think that he can make it look very well,” 
said his mother. “ Put on your other suit and 
we will take this one around to the tailor’s shop. 
But you haven’t told me what happened.” 

“Why, it was this way: I was chasing some of 
the boys, and just as I reached the corner an auto- 
mobile came speeding out of West Street. It 
skidded into the curb, and splashed the mud 
over me from head to foot. The whole thing 
happened in less than a minute. You ought 
to have heard the boys laugh!” 

128 


“I am thankful you were not hurt,” said 
his mother. ‘‘I will put on my wraps and we 
will go at once.” 

II. At the Tailor Shop 

“Good afternoon,” said Mrs. Duwell to the 
tailor as they entered the shop. 

“Good afternoon,” said the tailor. “What 
can I do for you to-day?” 

“We want to see if you can make this suit of 
clothes look like new,” said Mrs. Duwell. 

“Let me look at it,” said the man, untying 
the parcel, and examining the mud-splashed 
clothing. 

“Well, that is pretty bad, but I guess we can 
do a good job.” 

“How much will you charge?” asked Wallace 
anxiously. 

“Seventy-five cents, if you call for it,” said the 
tailor, taking out a tag. ‘ ' What name, please ? ’ ’ 

“Give your name, son,” said Mrs. Duwell. 

“Wallace Duwell,” said the boy. “When 
may I come?” 

“Day after to-morrow,” replied the tailor. 
“We will do our best to make it look like new.” 

“Thank you,” answered Wallace, smiling for 
the first time since the accident. 

9 129 


r 



Tell the story of this picture. 

Ip you look at your coat carefully you will find a story about 

SHEEP SHEARING, SPINNING, WEAVING, AND TAILORING, JUST LIKE THE STORY 
SHOWN IN THE PICTURES IN THE COAT ON THE OPPOSITE PAGE. 


130 



Do YOU EVER THINK OP THE MANY PEOPLE WE HAVE TO THANK YOU OUR 
NICE WARM CLOTHING? ^ 


131 



“Good afternoon,” said Mrs. Duwell, as they 
left the shop. 

“Good-by,” answered the tailor; “come 
again.” 

“Mother,” said Wallace, after they had walked 
a few minutes, “it was my fault that this ac- 
cident happened, and I want to pay for having 
the suit cleaned. I have the money Aunt Mary 
gave me for Christmas.” 

“That will please your father, Wallace. We 
will tell him the whole story this evening.” 

III. What the Tailor Saved the Duwell Family 

When Wallace finished telhng about the ac- 
cident his father said, “I wonder how much money 
the tailor is saving us by doing this work?” 

“I never thought about that,” admitted Wal- 
lace. 

“Let me see. We paid seven dollars and a 
half for that suit, didn’t we, mother?” asked 
Mr. Duwell. 

“Yes, I think that was the amount,” answered 
Mrs. Duwell. 

“Well, if the suit couldn’t be cleaned it would 
mean that we should have to buy another in its 
place. Mother can clean a suit well, but even 
she could not make as sorry a looking suit as 

132 


yours look like new. Now do a little problem 
in arithmetic.” 

Wallace promptly pulled pad and pencil 
from his pocket, and wrote: 


Cost of suit 

$7.50 

Tailor’s charge for cleaning. 

.75 

Saved . . - . 

$6.75 


“Six dollars and seventy-five cents! I didn’t 
think it would be that much !” he exclaimed in 
surprise. 

“Be sure to thank the tailor when you go 
after your suit,” said Mr. Duwell. 

“I certainly wUl,” said Wallace. 

QUESTIONS 

Do you ever visit the tailor’s? 

Tell about his shop. 

Do you think his work is easy? Could you do it? 

If you were a tailor and had worked hard to do good, 
prompt work, how would you like to be treated in return? 

If your suit could talk about all the things that happened 
to it before it came to you, it would tell a very interesting 
story. Pretend you are a suit and tell all about yourself. 

133 


THE DRESSMAKER 


I. An Invitation to a Party 

“Mother,” said Ruth, coming in from school 
a few days later, “Mildred Maydole has invited 
me to her birthday party. She wrote the invi- 
tations herself on the prettiest little note paper. 
Here is mine.” 

Mrs. Duwell read : 

Dear Ruth, 

It will give my mother and me much pleasure 
if you will come to my birthday party from three 
to six o’clock, Saturday afternoon, January 
twenty-eighth. 

Your friend, 

Mildred Maydole. 

“Oh, mother, please say I may go ! ” cried Ruth 
excitedly, jumping up and down on tiptoe. “ Mil- 
dred wants an answer soon, so that her mother 
can make her plans.” 

“Why, my dear, I think you may go,” said her 
mother, “ if I can get your new dress made by the 
twenty-eighth. You have grown so fast that 
I have not been able to keep up with you in 
sewing.” 

“I am so happy with the thought of going,” 
exclaimed Ruth, “that I can scarcely wait for 
134 


the day. You know, mother, Mildred is older 
than I, and it is a great honor to be invited to 
her party.” 

“Yes, indeed, it is,” agreed her mother. “ Natu- 
rally Mildred could not invite all the children in 
your grade at school ; so if I were you I would not 
talk about the party before the other children. 
You see, it might hurt the feelings of some who 
were not invited.” 

“That’s just what Mildred said, mother; she 
.asked us to keep it a secret for that reason.” 

“Well, dear, if you do keep it secret, do not 
make a mystery of it, whispering among the 
fortunate ones and letting the others wonder why 
you all say, ‘Hush,’ when they happen to come 
near.” 

“Why, mother! how did you know?” asked 
Ruth flushing. “ Now that I think of it, that is 
just what we did do.” 

“Instead of just telling Mildred that you will 
come,” said her mother, “I think it would be 
better to write a note accepting the invitation.” 

“I’ll do it right away!” exclaimed Ruth, run- 
ning to her little desk. “Will you help me with 
the words?” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Duwell. “How would it 
do to say this : 


135 


Dear Mildred, 

My mother is very much pleased with the kind 
invitation to your birthday party, and says that 
I may come on Saturday afternoon. 

• Your friend, 

Ruth Duwell.” 

When Ruth had finished writing, she sealed 
the envelope. 

"I shall hand this to Mildred after school is 
dismissed at noon,” she said. “Thank you for 
helping me, mother.” 

II. A Disappointment 

Mrs. Duwell had been unusually busy for 
several days after the conversation about the 
party. 

One day she said, “Ruth, dear child, I cannot 
seem to find time to make your new dress. I 
wonder if Miss Fells could make it before the 
twenty-eighth. Why not run over and ask her? ” 

“Yes, mother, why not? I think that is a 
good idea,” agreed Ruth. 

“I do, too,” said her mother. “Here is the 
material that grandma sent you. Rim along, 
and do not forget to thank Miss Fells if she will 
agree to make your dress.” 

“No, indeed, mother, I won’t,” said Ruth. 

136 


in. At the Dressmaker’s 

“Good afternoon, Miss Fells,” said Ruth, when 
she entered the door of the dressmaker’s house. 

“Good afternoon, Ruth,” said Miss Fells, who 
knew the little girl. Then, noticing the package, 
she added, “Oh, I hope you are not going to ask 
me to make you a dress any time soon.” 

Ruth’s heart sank. “I was going to. Miss 
Fells,” she admitted. 

“How soon?” asked the dressmaker. 

“By January the twenty-eighth.” Then she 
told about the party and her mother’s disappoint- 
ment. 

“I don’t see how I can do it — ” began Miss 
Fells. Then seeing the tears in Ruth’s eyes, she 
said, “But let me look at the goods, Ruth.” 

The little girl spread the material out on the 
table. 

‘ ‘ Isn’t it pretty ! ’ ’ exclaimed Miss F ells. ‘ ‘ Per- 
haps I can get some extra help. Come for a tit- 
ting to-morrow at four o’clock, and we’ll see what 
can be done.” 

“Oh, thank you, thank you. Miss Fells!” 
Ruth exclaimed. 

Then she ran aU the way home to tell the good 
news. 

“Now we see, Ruth,” said her mother, “how 
137 


* 


4 













What is ruth asking the dressmaker? 


138 





The “butter- 
flies" ON THIS 
PAGE ARE THE 
MOTHS OF TWO 
OF OUR AMERI- 
CAN SILKWORMS. 

In olden days, 
SPINNING WAS 
DONE AT HOME. 

Today we have 

GREAT SPINNING 
AND WEAVING 
MACHINES, AND 
MUCH OF OUR 
CLOTHING IS 
MADE IN FAC- 
TORIES. 


139 



glad we should be that different people do differ- 
ent things for us. A person who studies and 
works in one special line must do better than one 
who works at it only once in a while — the way 1 
do dressmaking.” 

“Why, that is true, mother,” exclaimed Ruth, 
“I never thought of it before, though.” 

“There are many more things to be learned 
about dressmakers,” went on her mother. “Let 
us talk about some of them this evening.” 

“Mother, I suppose father will ask a lot of 
questions — ^just as he did about the tailor.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” said Mrs. Duwell, “and 
I am glad that you are interested. I have heard 
my grandmother say that when she was youpg, 
there were no ready-made paper patterns.” 

“Why, mother, how could people make dresses 
then?” asked Ruth. 

“It was done in this way. A seamstress or 
some one who liked to make dresses would cut 
out and fit a dress for somebody in her family oi 
neighborhood. If the dress was pretty, the pat- 
tern would be borrowed and used by almost the 
entire village.” 

“Didn’t people mind if other dresses were made 
just like theirs?” asked Ruth. 

“No,” said her mother, “styles did not change 
140 



quickly in those days. Indeed, the getting of a 
new dress was a great event in the life of a girl, 
and it was chosen most carefully. 

“You see, it served first as a best dress; then, 
being turned, it often served as second best. 
After that, perhaps it would be handed down to 
a younger child to be worn as long as it had 
been by its first owner.” 

“My,” cried Ruth. “I am glad I didn’t live 
in the days when new dresses were so scarce.” 

141 


Mrs. Duwell smiled. “Children to-day have 
more of everything than children ever had before. 
They have more clothes and playthings, and better 
chances for ed-u-ca-tion — but here comes your 
father, Ruth. You may run and tell him of 
our plan for the evening.” 

Mr. Duwell was very much pleased with 
the plan. When the evening came he asked 
and answered many questions. He then showed 
the children pictures of silkworms in a large 
book marked “S.” 

“By the way,” he asked, “do you know that 
we have silkwprms right here in America? The 
American silkworms spin silk as strong and 
beautiful as that of the Chinese silkworms. 
But the people here do not have the time or 
patience to grow silkworms.” 

IV. The Party 

Ruth’s dress was not finished until an hour 
before the party began. 

As soon as the last stitch was taken. 
Miss Fells herself carried it to the Duwell 
home. 

Ruth was “on pins and needles” for fear it 
would not be done in time, and she was 
delighted to see the dressmaker. 

142 


“Oh, Miss Fells, I cannot thank you enough 
for getting it done!” she cried. 

■ “Hurry and put your dress on,” said Miss 
Fells. “I want to see how it fits.” 

In less time than it takes to tell, Ruth was 
dressed. 

“It fits perfectly,” said Miss Fells, who was 
almost as happy as Ruth herself. 

“It certainly does,” said Mrs. Duwell. “It is 
just right.” 

Mildred was very glad when Ruth arrived at 
the party, for she knew of her worry about the 
dress. 

“It is beautiful, Ruth,” she said, looking with 
sparkling eyes at the pretty smocking on the 
waist and skirt. “Miss Fells told me she was 
going to surprise you,” she added. 

“She surely did surprise me. Wasn’t she 
kind!” replied Ruth. 

The party was a delight. One of the games was 
a contest in needle threading. Ruth threaded 
her needle in the shortest time and won the prize, 
a pretty silver thimble. 

“Perhaps the new dress helped you to win,” 
said Mildred. 

“Won’t Miss Fells be pleased when she hears 
about it,” said Ruth. 


143 


QUESTIONS 

Does your mother ever sew for a long time without 
resting? 

How does her back feel when she stops? 

Do you think dressmaking is easy work? 

Can you tell some of the things dressmakers need in their 
work? 

If you have ever visited a silk or woolen or cotton mill, 
tell about it. 

Where do the mill owners get their materials ? 

Where do the stores get ready-made clothing? 

Could you or the shoemaker or the baker make as beauti- 
ful and comfortable clothing as the dressmaker? 

Why can she do it so well? 

How can we make her work easier? 

THE SILK DRESS 

“My dress is pretty,’’ a little girl said. 

‘ ‘ Did you make it ? ’ ’ I asked . She shook her head . 
“No, I didn’t make it,’’ she laughed in glee. 

“It took lots of people to make it,’’ said she. 
“I’ll tell you about it, because I know 
What my mother told me is truly so. 

“The silkworms grew it, and after a while 
Men unraveled it into a pile ; 

Girls spun it and wove it and sent it away. 

And my mother bought it for me one day ; 

And the dressmaker cut it and sewed it for me — 
These are the reasons I love it,” said she. 

144 


THE SHOEMAKER 

I. The Worn Shoes 

“Where now, Wallace?” asked Mr. Duwell as 
he met his son one bright afternoon. 

The boy was carrying a bundle under his arm. 

“Mother sent me over to the shoemaker’s,” 
replied the boy. 

“I am glad I ran across you,” said Mr. 
Duwell; “I have an errand over in that direc- 
tion; I’ll walk along with you.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, all right, father. Mother said she wished 
she could ask you about my shoes. We could 
not make up our minds whether they were worth 
half-soling or not.” 

“Why not talk the matter over with the shoe- 
maker?” said Mr. Duwell. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t have let them get so 
worn before taking them to Mr. Shoemaker’s,” 
remarked Wallace. 

“ As mother says, ‘A stitch in time saves nine,’ ” 
remarked Mr. Duwell. 

“By the way, father,” continued Wallace, 
“isn’t Mr. Shoemaker’s name a good one for a 
cobbler?” 

Mr. Duwell smiled. “Very good, indeed; but 
really it isn’t so strange as it seems. Many years 


ago, when people did not have two names, they 
became known by the names of the trades they 
followed. For instance, John the baker became 
John Baker, and later Mr. Baker; so also the 
tailor became Mr. Taylor; the mason, Mr. Mason; 
the carpenter, Mr. Carpenter.” 

“And the blacksmith, Mr. Smith; and the 
cook, Mr. Cook,” added Wallace. 

“Yes,” said his father, “and we could think of 
many more such names ; but here we are at Mr. 
Shoemaker’s. Suppose you attend to this little 
matter of business by yourself, while I do my 
errand.” 

This made Wallace look pleased and important 
as he stepped into the shop. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Shoemaker,” he said. 

“Good afternoon,” replied the shoemaker; 
“what can I do for you to-day?” 

Wallace handed him the parcel, which he 
opened. 

“Do you think it would pay to put half-soles 
and new heels on these shoes?” asked the boy. 

“Pretty good uppers,” replied the shoemaker, 
examining them carefully. “I think it would 
almost double the length of life of these shoes to 
mend them, but I would not wear the next pair 
quite so long before having them mended.” 

146 


“I think you are right,” said Wallace. “ How 
much will you charge?” 

“A dollar and a quarter for soles and heels,” 
replied the man. 

“Isn’t that a good deal?” asked Wallace. 

“Not too much if we use the best quality of 
leather, and it doesn’t pay to use any other.” 

“All right, Mr. Shoemaker,” agreed Wallace. 
“ When shall I call for them? ” 

“On Saturday,” he replied, writing Wallace’s 
name on a tag. 

“Very well, good afternoon.” 

“ Good-by,” said the shoemaker. 

Outside the door Wallace was joined by his 
father. 

“ I do not know whether I did right to leave my 
shoes, father,” said Wallace. “Mr. Shoemaker 
said the charge would be a dollar and a quarter. 
Doesn’t that seem a big price?” 

“It does,” replied Mr. Duwell, “but I think you 
did right. A new pair of such shoes would cost 
three dollars and seventy-five cents.” 

“And three dollars and seventy-five cents, less 
one dollar and a quarter, equals two dollars and 
a half saved,” finished Wallace. 

“That is true, my boy,” said Mr. Duwell, “if 
they last as long as a new pair.” 

147 




\ 


Tell the story of this picture. 









148 







It seems strange to think that the leather in our shoes was 
ONCE WORN BY ANIMALS, DOESN’T IT ? 


149 


“I suppose we ought to be very much obliged 
to the shoemaker, even though we do pay him 
for his work,” mused the boy aloud. 

“So we should,” said his father. “Everyone 
who does good work helps the world along, 
whether he is paid for it or not.” 

“But I shouldn’t want to be a shoemaker,” 
went on Wallace. 

“Why not, Wallace?” 

“Oh, I hardly know, father.” 

“Shoemaking is very interesting, and it re- 
quires skill, my boy. Of course, the making 
of new shoes does not require the skill it did 
years ago because so much of the work is done 
by machines.” 

“ Did you ever hear of a shoemaker who became 
a great man?” asked Wallace. 

“Oh, that is the question, is it?” said Mr. 
Duwell with a smile. “I have heard of several, 
and this evening I shall be glad to talk about 
them.” 

II. Shoemakers Who Became Famous 

That evening, when the family was seated 
around the library table, Mr. Duwell brought 
out a book and took up Wallace’s question. 

“Here is a book,” he said, “that tells many 

150 


facts about shoemakers who became noted men. 
Let me read about some of them. 

“‘One of our most famous American poets, 
John Greenleaf Whittier, in early life, was a shoe- 
maker. Whittier never forgot the lessons he 
learned while working at the shoemaker’s bench. 
His book of poems, called Songs of Labor, 
printed in 1850, contains a stirring poem about 
shoemakers.’ 

“Here are two other famous men,” said Mr. 
Duwell, turning the page he was reading. 

“‘Among noted Americans who were shoe- 
makers was Roger Sherman, of Con-nec-ti-cut. 
He was a member of the Congress of 1774. 
Sherman was one of the brave men who signed 
the Dec-lar-a-tion of In-de-pen-dence. 

“ ‘At least one vice-president of the United 
States was a shoemaker — Henry Wilson, who 
was made vice-president when General Grant 
became president in 1872. He was often called 
“the Na-tick Cobbler,” because he was once a 
shoemaker in the town of Natick.’ 

“So you see, Wallace,” Mr. Duwell went on 
after a little pause, “the kind of work you do 
151 


doesn’t matter so much. It is how well you do 
it that makes the difference.” 

"I think I do see, father,” said Wallace. 
“Maybe, after aU, I’ll be a shoemaker. Then, 
perhaps. I’ll become a poet or vice-president of 
the United States.” 

Everybody laughed. 

“Wouldn’t you rather be a tailor? ’’askedRuth. 

‘ ‘ I don’t believe I should stand as good a chance 
then,” replied Wallace. 

“I am not so sure,” said Mr. Duwell laugh- 
ing. “Andrew Johnson was a tailor, and he 
became President of the United States ; but all 
mother and I hope for, son, is that you will 
become a useful, well-educated man.” 

III. At the Shoemaker’s Shop 

When he called for his shoes on Saturday, Wal- 
lace looked at the shoemaker with new respect. 

“Good morning, Mr. Shoemaker,” said Wal- 
lace. “Are my shoes ready?” 

“Good morning,” replied the shoemaker. 
“Yes, here they are.” 

‘ ‘ They look fine ! ’ ’ exclaimed the boy. ‘ ‘ Thank 
you for doing such a good job. Here is the 
money — a dollar and a quarter — is that right?” 

152 


“ Yes, thank you,” replied the shoemaker. “It 
isn’t every day that a customer thanks me for 
doing a good job. Most people don’t give a 
thought to anything but finding fault if the 
work isn’t right — especially boys.” 

■ QUESTIONS 

Is there a shoemaker’s shop near your home? 

Did the shoemaker ever save you or your family any 
money? 

Can you tell about him and his shop? 

What kind of customers do you think he likes? 

See if you can make a list of the people whom you have to 
thank for a new pair cf shoes. 


Rap-tap ! rap-tap-tap ! 

Rings the shoemaker’s hammer; 
He’s making old shoes look quite new 
With swift and merry clamor. 

Rap- tap ! rap-tap-tap ! 

List to the shoemaker’s song; 

By mending shoes he does his part 

To help the world along. 

153 


STORIES ABOUT PEOPLE WHO SUPPLY 
US WITH SHELTER 



THE CARPENTER 

I. A Trip into the Country 
“It’s just possible that I may be home very 
early, perhaps in time for twelve o’clock lunch,” 
remarked Mr. Duwell, one Saturday morning 
as he was starting for business. 

“Oh, wouldn’t that be fine!” exclaimed the 
children. “We’ll be looking for you.” 

Even before the noon whistles had ceased blow- 
ing, three eager faces were peering out of the win- 
dows, for Mrs. Duwell was as interested as Ruth 
and Wallace. 


154 


“Oh, I do hope father will come soon!” ex- 
claimed Ruth. 

“I am sure to see him first,” said Wallace 
with a superior air. “I can see farther than 
you!” 

“You can’t see father any better than I can,” 
replied Ruth, “ for I see him this minute.” 

“ You do? Where? ” asked Wallace. 

“I certainly do — may I run to meet him, 
mother?” 

“Oh, I see him 1 ” cried Wallace. “I am going, 
too !” 

“Yes, run!” said Mrs. Duwell. “You both 
have better eyes than I have.” Almost before 
she had finished speaking, the children were rac- 
ing toward a carriage. As the driver drew rein, 
they climbed in. 

“Well, here we are!” Mr. Duwell sang out, as 
they drove up in front of the door. “What does 
the Duwell family say to a ride this pleasant 
afternoon?” 

“What a grand surprise!” called Mrs. Duwell, 
who was now standing on the top step. 

“I am going to get an apple for the horse,” 
cried Wallace, and away he ran. In a moment 
he returned. 

“How does that taste, old fellow?” he asked, 

155 


rubbing the horse’s soft nose as he munched the 
apple. 

“He isn’t really hungry,” said Mr. Duwell. 
“He had his dinner just before we left the livery 
stable, and the stable man gave me a bag of grain 
for his supper; but I guess he doesn’t often get 
apples.” 

It didn’t take long to eat lunch that day, the 
family were so excited. 

“Where are we going, father?” asked Wallace. 

“Just into the country,” said Mr. Duwell. 
“It has been so long since we have seen the 
green fields that I thought a trip would do us 
all good.” 

Soon they left the city streets behind, and came 
to a beautiful country road, along which they 
drove for several miles. 

“ Oh, see that funny-looking house ! ” exclaimed 
Ruth suddenly. “It looks like a cage !” 

“That isn’t a house, yet,” said Mr. Duwell; 
“it is only the frame-work.” 

“Oh,” exclaimed Wallace, “is that the way 
wooden houses are built?” 

“It is, little city people,” replied Mr. Duwell. 
“No wonder you are not familiar with such a 
sight. City houses are not built of wood, be- 
cause of the danger of fire.” 

156 


“I should like to see that house closer,” said 
Wallace. 

“Well drive over there,” his father agreed, 
turning the horse’s head. 

As they drew near, Wallace exclaimed, “Why, 
there’s Mr. Emerson on the porch; he is my 
teacher. I wonder what he is doing here.” 

At that moment Mr. Emerson saw the boy. 
“Good afternoon, Wallace,” he said, lifting his 
hat and bowing to the party as he came toward 
the carriage. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Emerson,” said Wal- 
lace, lifting his cap; “I should like to have you 
meet my mother and father.” 

Mr. Emerson bowed, and shook hands with 
Mr. and Mrs. Duwell. 

“And this is Wallace’s sister, Ruth,” said Mr. 
Duwell. 

“lam glad to know you, Ruth,” Mr. Emerson 
said. “Are you thinking of moving into the 
country?” he asked after a minute. “If so, I 
hope you will be my neighbors.” 

“Do you live here, Mr. Emerson? ” asked Wal- 
lace. 

“Not yet,” replied Mr. Emerson, smihng; 
“but we hope to when the new house is 
finished. 


157 


“What a comfortable home it will be.” said 
Mr. Duwell. 

Mr. Emerson looked pleased. “Won’t you 
come in and see the plan?” he asked. 

“Thank you, we shall be delighted to,” said 
Mr. Duwell. 

II. The SawmUl 

After they had gone all over the house, they 
bade Mr. Emerson good-by and drove away. 

“Won’t it be fine ! How I should love to live 
there ! ’ ’ The children were still talking about the 
new house. 

“Where do you suppose Mr. Emerson got the 
wood?” questioned Ruth. 

“I know,” answered Wallace; “at the lumber 
yard.” 



158 


'‘Did he, father? Couldn’t he have just 
chopped down some of those trees over there?” 
asked Ruth, pointing to a wooded hill to the 
right. 

‘ ‘ I hardly think so, ” replied Mr. Duwell. ‘ ‘ Be- 
fore trees can be used in building they have to 
be — ” 

“ Sawed into boards and planks,” finished Wal- 
lace. 

‘ ‘ Good ! ’ ’ said his father. ‘ ‘ And where is that 
done?” 

“At the sawmill,” said the boy. 

“That reminds mo — ’’saidMrs. Duwell; “there 
is a sawmill over at the bottom of that hill. Mr. 
Emerson told me about it. Some of his lumber 
came from there.” 

“Then this road must lead to it,” said Mr. Du- 
well, pulling up at a cross-road that ran through 
the woods towards the hill. 

“What does that sign-post say, Wallace?” 

Wallace jumped out and examined the dingy 
sign, which was hardly readable. 

‘ ‘ Sawmill Road ; this is the right way ! ” he cried. 

They had not driven far along the shady road 
when a peculiar whistling sound met their ears. 

“There’s the saw, now, I believe!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Duwell. 


159 


“So it is,” said Mr. Duwell. “Trot along, 
boy!” he urged the horse. 

At a turn in the road they came upon 
the old sawmill, nestling at the foot of the 
hill. The smooth mill pond shone brightly 
in the sun. As the water fell over the dam, 
it tumbled into a noisy little brook which ran 
under a bridge and away down the valley. 
The refreshing odor of pine and cedar filled 
the air. 

Several men were busy sawing the trunk of a 
pine tree into long, clean planks. The children 
watched the circular saw with wonder as its sharp 
teeth ate into the sweet-smelling wood. Its shrill 
music delighted them. 

“Yes, sir,” the foreman replied to a question 
of Mr. Duwell’s, “most sawmills are run by steam 
power. Very few old-fashioned water wheels are 
left in this part of the country. Let me show you 
our wheel.” 

“This is the sluice-way,” he explained, pointing 
to a long narrow canal full of flowing water. 
“The sluice-way leads the water from the pond 
to the top of the wheel.” 

Going down a flight of steps on the outside 
of the building, they stood right beside the old 
moss-covered wheel. It was a huge wooden frame- 
160 


work with shelves or buckets all around the wide 
rim to catch the water. 

The water poured out of the sluice-way over 
the wheel, turning it slowly and steadily. As 
the wheel turned, the water kept falling with 
noisy splashes into the stream below. 

“What makes it go round?” asked Wallace 
eagerly. 

“The force and weight of the water pouring 
over it,” replied the foreman. “That is what 
we call water power.” 

“Think of it, children!” said Mr. Duwell. 
“That old wheel helped to build Mr. Emerson’s 
house.” 

“ Yes, ” said the foreman , “ it has helped to build 
many houses besides Mr. Emerson’ s. That old 
water wheel has been sawing wood just as you 
see it now for over a hundred years.” 

III. The Carpenter 

On the way home the little party talked about 
their adventures. 

“Mr. Emerson must have had help to build 
a house like that,” remarked Ruth after a 
pause. 

“Oh, he didn’t build it, goosey,” said Wallace. 

“Who did, then, Mr. Know-it-all?” 


“Why, the carpenter, of course,” Wallace re- 
plied. 

“Oh, I see,” exclaimed Ruth. “The carpenter 
builds the house for Mr. Emerson, and Mr. Emer- 
son has time to teach you boys.” 

“That is exactly right, little girl,” said her 
father. 

“Besides, no one person can do many things 
well. Perhaps Mr. Emerson is a better teacher 
for not trying to do too many things,” Mrs. 
Duwell added. 

“I think a carpenter is wonderful, don’t you?” 
said Wallace. 

“The greatest man that ever lived was a car- 
penter,” said his mother. 

“Whoa, boy ! ” exclaimed Mr. Duwell, drawing 
up the reins sharply. “Don’t get frightened at 
a piece of paper, when you’ve done so well. Whoa, 
there, boy!” 

The horse seemed to understand the quiet 
gentle voice, and settled down to an even trot. 

“He will go well enough now,” said Mrs. Du- 
well. “He knows we are headed for home.” 

“ So we are ! I wish we were headed the other 
way,” said Wallace. “What makes a good time 
so short?” he asked, so seriously that everybody 
laughed. 


162 


IV. The V/olf’s Den 

“Mother, I may be late in getting home from 
school this afternoon,” said Wallace on Monday 
at noon. “Mr. Emerson said he was going to 
take us for a walk after school to-day. He told 
us to ask if it would be all right. Will it. 
mother?” 

“Yes, Wallace, but try to be home before 
dark.” 

“I’ll tell you all about our trip at supper 
time,” said Wallace. “Good-by.” 

Wallace bounded in just as supper was being 
put on the table. 

“ Good evening, everybody. Oh, it was fine ! ” 
he exclaimed. “Mr. Emerson took us for a long 
walk in the park — to a part I have never seen 
before.” 

“That was splendid,” said his mother. 

“Now, tell us all about your trip,” said his 
father, when Wallace had partly satisfied his 
hunger. 

Wallace began: “We walked until we reached 
the wild part of the park. Soon we came to a 
steep hill and a great pile of high rocks covered 
with trees and bushes. 

“ ‘How many of you boys have ever been in a 

163 


real cave?’ Mr. Emerson asked. Only three of 
us had, and we were veiy much excited. 

“‘Well,’ he said, ‘right above that big granite 
rock there is a natural cave. It was found only 
a few days ago. The opening was covered with 
bushes, so nobody knew it was there. It must 
have been the den of some wild animal years ago. 
The opening is so small that only one boy can go 
in at a time.’ 

“He divided us into four sections and made me 
the leader of section one. 

“One at a time we climbed up until all five 
boys of my section were on top of the rock. There 
was the cave, a dark opening in the rocks about 
as big around as a barrel. Being the leader. I 
had to go in first.” 

“Weren’t you scared?” asked Ruth. 

“Well — it was exciting,” admitted her brother. 
“I got down on my hands and knees and looked 
in, but could see nothing. Then I crawled in. 
It was as dark as a pocket. I tried to stand up 
and bumped my head, the ceiling was so low. 

“In a minute or two I could see better. The 
walls of the cave were nothing but rocks. The 
floor was covered with sand and dry leaves. There 
was just room enough to turn around in, so I 
turned around and crawled out.” 

164 


“Well, I call that pretty brave, Wallace, to go 
in first,” his mother said. 

“There wasn’t anything to be afraid of, 
mother,” said Wallace. After a moment he con- 
tinued, “Well, after the boys in my group had 
all been in, we climbed down, and the other sec- 
tions went up and did the same thing. Every 
boy went in, although some of the little fellows 
looked pretty white when they came out. Then 
we sat on the rocks, and Mr. Emerson talked 
about the homes of wild animals and the early 
savages. 

“ ‘ What animal do you suppose lived in this 
cave?’ Mr. Emerson asked us. Some guessed 
wolves and some, bears. We finally decided to 
name it The Wolf’s Den. 

V. The Cave Dwellers 

“Mr. Emerson said that wild animals live in 
just the same way to-day as they always did. 
They live in caves and holes in the ground or 
in hollow trees, where they can hide and keep 
warm. 

“One boy spoke up, ‘How about dogs, Mr. 
Emerson? ’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ Mr. Emerson said, ‘ dogs are tame ani- 
mals now, although they used to be wild. But 

165 


even the dog ’s house is a wooden cave which his 
master builds for him. ’ 

“He told us that a long time ago people lived 
in caves which they dug in the earth like animals. 
They were cave dwellers or cave men. The reason 
we have better homes now is that we have 
greater minds than , animals and have learned to 
use our hands and brains to build houses. 

“He said that the cave men must have thought 
it wonderful when they found they could make 
stone hatchets sharp enough to cut down small 
trees. With them they learned to make huts out of 
wood, which were larger and more comfortable 
than caves and just as safe from storms. 

“As time went on, men paid more attention 
to building. They learned to make houses of 
stone and clay and brick. They kept on study- 
ing and improving until they were able to build 
great cities such as we have to-day.” 

“ Listen ! ” exclaimed Ruth, clapping her hands 
as Wallace finished his story. “Wouldn’t Wal- 
lace make a good teacher ! That sounded exactly 
like the way Mr. Emerson talks.” 

“Nothing like so interesting, though,” said 
Wallace. “He promised to show us his new 
house when it is finished.” 

“Wouldn’t I like to go with you !” said Ruth. 

166 


QUESTIONS 

Are there any houses being built near you? 

Have you ever watched the carpenter at work? 

Tell about some of his tools. 

In the early days in this country men had to build their 
own houses. Were these log cabins as comfortable and well 
built as our houses are to-day? 

How is it that the carpenter can do so much better work 
than you could? 

Where does the carpenter get his lumber? 

Have you ever visited a sawmill? 

Wouldn’t you like to ask at the library for some books 
that tell about cave men and cliff dwellers? about 
lumbering? 



167 


THE BRICKLAYER 

I. The Fallen Chimney 

All day long the rain came pouring down. By 
night the wind rose with a shriek and a roar, 
banging unfastened shutters and rattling win- 
dows in their casings. 

"Oh, dear, what an awful night!” exclaimed 
Ruth. “How glad I am that Fluffy is safe in- 
doors!” and she stroked the little cat lying on a 
cushion on the sewing machine. 

“And how glad I am that Harry Teelow found 
that lost puppy to-day,” said Wallace. 

“Pretty bad, isn’t it?” Mr. Duwell said, look- 
ing up from his paper. “I don’t suppose the 
bricklayer came to mend the chimney to-day. 
He couldn’t have worked in such a storm.” 

“No, he did not come,” replied Mrs. Duwell 
with a troubled look. “Do you suppose there 
is any danger of its tumbling down?” 

“Well, I can’t say,” replied Mr. Duwell, shak- 
ing his head doubtfully. “I wish I had stopped 
to see Mr. Bricklayer, a week ago when I first 
discovered how loose the bricks were, instead of 
waiting until — ” 

But he did not finish the sentence, for bang! 
even above the terrific noise of the storm 
168 


came the sound of falling bricks and broken 
glass. 

The family rushed into the little kitchen, which 
was built on the end of the house. 

What a sight met their eyes ! 

Water was pouring through a hole in the ceiling 
where the roof had given way. Rain splashed 
in great gusty dashes through the window where 
the bricks had broken through. 

Already there was a little lake on the floor. 

Ruth was the first to speak. “ If it keeps on,” 
she said, half laughing and half crying, “it will 
be quite deep enough for Alice and the mouse and 
the Dodo to swim in!” She was thinking of 
Alice in Wonderland, you know. 

That made everybody laugh, and all began to 
work. They placed tubs and pails where they 
would catch the water and stuffed old cloths 
into the broken window panes. 

It was fully an hour before the family were 
settled down again in the living room. 

“Well, children, you can now understand 
the saying, ‘Never put off till to-morrow 
what should be done to-day,’” remarked Mr, 
Duwell. 

“It is a lesson none of us will soon forget,” 
added Mrs. Duwell. 


169 










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rii'H I iiiVHiiilWiiiiMi 



This picture shows a clay pit, a kiln, brickmakers, brick roadway, 

CULVERT, CHIMNEY, BRIDGE, MEN LAYING BRICKS. 

171 


“Could you and I have mended the broken 
chimney, father?” asked Wallace. 

“Not very well, my boy,” replied Mr. Duwell. 
“'Every man to his trade,’ you know. By the 
way, I hope Mr. Bricklayer will be here before you 
children start to school in the morning. Run to 
bed now so that you can be up early to see him 
begin his work.” 


n. The Bricklayer 

The next day dawned bright and sunny, with 
only a merry little breeze to remind one of yester- 
day’s storm. 

The bricklayer did not come before the children 
started to school in the morning, but just after 
lunch. They had only time to watch him and 
his helper climb to the roof. 

“I am going to get home from school early,” 
said Wallace; “maybe they will not be through 
by that time.” 

“ I am, too,” Ruth chimed in. “I wonder what 
bricks are,” she added. 

‘ ‘ Bricks ? Why, don’t you know ? ’ ’ asked W al- 
lace. “ Our manual training teacher told us that 
bricks are a sort of imitation stone made of 
moistened clay and sand mixed together, and 
shaped as we see them. They are baked in an 

172 


oven-like place, called a kiln, or dried in the 
sun.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I wonder who first 
thought of making them. They are something 
like sun-baked mud-pies,” said Ruth. 

“Our teacher said that bricks three thousand 
years old have been found in Egypt, some with 
writing on them.” 

“Oh, I remember that the Bible tells about 
bricks. Why, Wallace, men must have been 
bricklayers for thousands of years!” 

“It is lucky for us they haven’t forgotten how 
to make them, for what could we do without 
a chimney?” said Wallace. “Hello, there is 
Harry ! I want to see him about the ball game;” 
and away he ran. 

III. After School 

Wallace brought Harry, and Ruth brought 
Mildred Maydole home after school to watch 
the bricklayer work. 

“Why, how straight and true the bricks must 
be ! ” exclaimed Harry. “A bricklayer has to be 
very careful, doesn’t he?” 

“Indeed he does,” replied Wallace. “Do you 
know what the mortar is made of?” 

“ Yes ; I think I do. It is lime and sand and — 

173 


something else,” Harry said. That made them 
all laugh. 

“I think the most wonderful brick work I ever 
saw,” said Mildred, “was in the arch of a big 
sewer. I couldn’t tell why the bricks didn’t 
all fall down. My father said the mortar held 
them.” 

“Why, if it weren’t for bricklayers, and cement 
workers, and stone masons, we should be without 
lots of things ! ” exclaimed Harry. “Just imagine 
it, if you can.” 

“That’s so,” said Wallace. “Let’s count what 
we know of that they build for us — sewers, bridge 
piers, — go on, Mildred.” 

“Pavements,” added Mildred. 

“Houses and chimneys,” said Ruth. 

“Foundations for houses,” said Harry. 

“Here comes father!” cried Ruth suddenly; 
and all the children ran to meet him. 

“We’ve been talking about how it would 
be if there were no bricklayers, or stone 
masons, or cement workers, father,” said Wal- 
lace. 

“ I’m glad to hear that,” said Mr. Duwell. “I 
was thinking very much the same thing as I 
walked home so soon after such a heavy rain 
without getting my feet wet. 

J74 


"I remember what Benjamin Franklin wrote/’ 
he went on, “about the streets of Philadelphia 
in his day. He said the mud after a storm was 
so deep that it came above the people’s shoe- 
tops. It was Benjamin Franklin himself who 
first talked of paving the streets.” 

“I’m glad they aren’t as bad as they were in 
Benjamin Franklin’s time,” said Mildred. 

QUESTIONS 

Have you ever watched a bricklayer working? 

What was he doing? 

Could you have done it ? 

Where do you suppose he got his bricks? 

Have you ever seen bricks being made? 

Are bricklayers, cement workers, and stone masons more 
needed in the city or in the country? Why? 


Do you know how our city grew. 

Its lofty buildings raising? 

Its pavements, parks, and bridges, too — 
Whose labors are they praising? 

Just the workmen who every day 
Did their work in the very best way. 


176 



THE PLUMBER, THE PLASTERER, 
THE PAINTER 

I. A Visit to a Little Town 

“I have an errand to do just outside the city 
limits,” said Mr. Duwell one pleasant Saturday 
morning. “ Would you like to go with me, Wal- 
lace?” 

“I certainly should,” said the boy. 

In a few minutes father and son were on the 
electric car, speeding toward Oldtown. 

When there, they walked up the main street, 
which was lined with rows of shabby houses, 
badly in need of paint. Little pools of standing 
water lay in the gutters. 

‘ ‘ What an awful smell ! I should think it would 

176 


make people sick! And look at the flies!” ex- 
claimed Wallace. 

“I have no doubt it does make people sick,” 
said Mr. Duwell. “Flies and mosquitoes breed 
very rapidly in such places.” 

“Flies and mosquitoes carry disease germs, 
Mr. Emerson says,” observed Wallace. 

“So they do; they are more dangerous 
to health than poi-son-ous snakes,” his father 
said. 

“Why don’t the people clean their gutters?” 
asked Wallace. 

“I suppose they do sometimes,” replied his 
father; “but Oldtown will never be clean and 
healthy while the dirty water from the houses is 
drained into the streets and alleys. Waste water 
must be carried off by means of pipes into a sewer. 
That is the work of the plumber. A good 
plumber is a health officer.” 

“What a lot of people it takes to keep things 
going right, father! This town certainly does 
need a plumber,” remarked Wallace. 

This remark seemed to please Mr. Duweh very 
much. 

“How would you like to move to Oldtown, 
Wallace? ” asked his father when their errand was 
finished and they were riding home. 


“I shouldn’t mind,” said Wallace, “if I were a 
plumber.” 

II. At Home 

When Ruth saw them coming, she ran to meet 
them. 

“What do you think, father!” she exclaimed ; 
“the plasterer came while you were gone, and 
mended the kitchen ceiling. Mother is so pleased ! 
Come and look at it 1” 

“That’s very well done,” said Mr. Duwell, 
examining the neat patch over the large hole 
which the falling chimney had made. “But 
it makes the whole room look as if it needed 
a new coat of paint. What do you think, 
mother?” 

“I think it would make me a better cook to 
have a nice clean kitchen,” said Mrs. Duwell. 
smiling. 

“You couldn’t be a better cook, mother!” 
Wallace said, eyeing the good meal which was 
ready to be put on the dining table. 

“That is what we all think, Wallace,” said his 
father; “and we think, too, that such a good cook 
deserves a better kitchen. So on Monday I will 
ask the painter to see about doing the walls and 
woodwork.” 


178 


III. The New Kitchen 

When the men had finished their work the 
kitchen was so changed that it scarcely knew 
itself, as Wallace said. 

Instead of dim walls and dull-gray paint, 
everything was white and blue. A shining white 
sink with two bright nickel spigots was standing 
proudly in one corner of the room. 

Mrs. Duwell had just finished hanging a white 
dotted muslin curtain at the window over the 
sink when Ruth entered. 

“Oh, mother, doesn’t that look lovely!” she 
exclaimed. 

“I thought such a bright clean kitchen deserved 
a clean new curtain,” said her mother. 

“Isn’t the kitchen beautiful!” Ruth went on. 
“It seems like living in a fairy tale — as though 
we had wakened up to find things changed by 
magic.” 

“It does, in a way,” agreed her mother; “but, 
really, they were every-day fairies who brought 
about these changes and turned ugliness into 
beauty.” 

“I think I know their names,” Ruth said, 
laughing; “Mr. Plumber, Mr. Plasterer, and Mr. 
Painter.” 

“Why, how did you guess?” said her mother. 

179 


QUESTIONS 

Did the plumber ever come to your house? 

What did he do? 

What would have happened if you could not have found a 
plumber? 

None of us would like to live in a town where there are no 
plumbers. Why not ? 

Shut your eyes and try to imagine how the Duwell 
family^s kitchen looked before the workmen began to work; 
now imagine that they have finished their work. Tell how 
different it looks. 

Have workmen ever made such changes in your home? 

Can you name some other people besides the carpenter, 
the bricklayer, the plumber, the plasterer, and the painter 
who help give us shelter? 



180 


STORIES ABOUT PEOPLE WHO SUPPLY 
US WITH FUEL 


THE COAL MAN AND THE MINER 


I. Black Diamonds 




“How are the 
black diamonds 
holding out, 
Wallace?” asked 
Mrs. Duwell. 
Wallace had just 
brought up coal 
from the cellar. 
“Only a few more 
scuttlefuls in the bin, mother,” answered 
Wallace. 

“On your way from school you may stop at 
the coal yard and ask Mr. 
Carr to send a ton to- 
morrow.” 

“ All right, mother, 
I won’t forget. But 
tell me, why do 
they call coal black 
diamonds?” 

“I haven’t time 


181 


to talk about it now. Perhaps Mr. Carr will 
tell you. You have just ten minutes to get to 
school." 

On his way home Wallace stepped into the 
little office of the big coal yard. 

“How are you, my boy; what can I do for you 
to-day?” asked Mr. Carr, who was a rather tall 
man with a bent back and one shoulder higher 
than the other. 

“How do you do, Mr. Carr? ” replied Wallace. 
“Mother wants you to send a ton of coal to-mor- 
row — the same kind as the last you sent.” 

Wallace waited until the coal man entered the 
order in the book and then asked, “Mr. Carr, will 
you tell me why they call coal black diamonds? ” 

Mr. Carr smiled pleasantly. “Certainly, son, 
certainly. You see, coal shines like diamonds, 
and then, it’s worth more.” 

“Worth more? Why, I thought diamonds 
were worth more than anything else.” 

“No, indeed ! If there weren’t any coal in the 
ground, all the diamonds in the world wouldn’t 
heat a house, cook a meal, pull a railway train, 
or run a machine.” 

“Well, I never thought of that,” said Wallace. 
“You certainly could not burn diamonds in a 
cook-stove.” 


182 


“No, indeed!” said Mr. Carr, who seemed 
much pleased at Wallace’s interest. 

II. In a Coal Mine 

“Were you ever down in a coal mine, Mr. 
Carr?” asked Wallace. 

“Was I ever down in a coal mine?” repeated 
Mr. Carr. “Yes, sir, I was a miner for years 
in the coal regions, and would have been in a 
mine yet, probably, if it hadn’t been for this,” 
pointing to his shoulder and bent back. 

“Is it very dangerous work?” asked Wallace, 
with wide-open eyes. 

“Well, if the roof doesn’t fall on you, and if 
the mine doesn’t catch fire, and if the gas doesn’t 
choke you, or explode and blow you up, it isn’t 
dangerous; it is perfectly safe.” 

“But how did it get hurt — your shoulder, I 
mean?” asked Wallace. 

“Oh, that! I’ll tell you. One day we were 
getting out coal at the far end of a tunnel. Sud- 
denly, before we had time to run, the roof came 
tumbling down and buried us. When they pulled 
us out, my helper was dead, and my back was 
as you see it now.” 

“What makes mining so dangerous?” asked 
Wallace, in surprise. 


183 


“Well, you see, it’s this way. When you step 
into the cage, that is the elevator, you leave the 
sunhght behind. The cage sinks down, down 
into pitch darkness, sometimes hundreds of 
feet. At the bottom of the shaft it is like an 
under-ground city. Street-hke tunnels, with 
car tracks laid on them, run out in every 
direction. The coal cars are drawn by mules 
or by electricity. 

“As you go up the tracks you see cross tunnels 
and the miners’ little lamps shining in dark holes 
that look hke black caves. Here the miners 
work, blasting out the coal, and loading it on 
cars to be drawn to the mouth of the mine and 
hoisted up into daylight. 

“Sometimes the walls and roof are not properly 
braced. Then they cave in and great lumps of 
coal fall down on the men. Sometimes gas or 
fire-damp collects. Then there is danger of chok- 
ing or of being blown up. Sometimes, in blast- 
ing, the coal catches fire, so that the whole mine 
burns.” 

“Why, miners must be as brave as soldiers,” 
said Wallace. 

“Yes, I suppose they are brave. People do not 
know how hauch they owe to the miners. They 
risk their lives every time they go down into 

184 



Can you tell a story about the journey of a ton op coal from 

THE TIME THE MINER DIGS IT OUT OP THE MINE, AND BOYS SORT OUT THE 
SLATE, UNTIL IT IS PUT INTO THE FURNACE IN A HOUSE ? 


185 



the mines. But they don’t think much about 
the danger. That is part of their work.” 

“Thank you for telhng me about it,” said 
Wallace. 

“You are welcome, my boy; good-by.” 

“Good-by, Mr. Carr.” 

Wallace hurried home with a new respect for 
Mr. Carr and the men who work in the dark 
mines under the ground. 

QUESTIONS 

How does the coal man bring the coal to your house? 

From whom does he buy it? 

Pretend you are a piece of coal and tell the story of your 
life. 

Name some of the things which we would have to do 
without if there were no noiners or coal men. 

Do you burn anything else at your house besides coal ? 

Are the men who supply us with these things our helpers 
too? 

Where does the wood man get kindling and firewood? 

Where does the oil man get oil? 

Will you ask for a book about pe-tro'le-um, or coal oil, 
when you go to the library next time? 

Can you think of any other people who supply us with 
fuel? 


186 


STORIES ABOUT PEOPLE WHO CARE 
FOR OUR HEALTH 



THE DENTIST 
1. Why Ruth Was Afraid 

“Oh, dear!” sobbed Ruth. “0 — h, dear!” 
She was sitting in her little rocking-chair in 
the living-room. 

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Wallace, 
coming in to look for his books. “Are you 
hurt?” 

“No;” Ruth shook her head. 

187 


“Well, then, what is it?” 

“Oh, Wallace, I am so afraid I’m going to be 
hurt. Mother says there is a dark spot on one of 
my teeth. She is getting ready to take me to 
Doctor Harrison’s. I have never had a tooth 
filled.” 

“Well, of all the silly things I ever heard of,” 
exclaimed Wallace, “that’s the silliest! What 
makes you think the dentist will hurt you?” 

Ruth looked up in surprise. 

“Haven’t you ever heard the boys and girls 
talk of how they were hurt when they had teeth 
filled?” she asked. 

“Oh, I have heard some boj's talk,” Wallace 
admitted; “but they were boys who never cleaned 
their teeth — ” 

“And who did not see a dentist until they had 
a toothache,” added Mrs. Duwell, overhearing 
AVallace’s remark as she entered the room. 

“What, crying?” she asked, noticing Ruth’s 
swollen eye-lids. “Why, my dear little girl, the 
dentist is one of your best friends.” 

“I guess some of the girls and boys would like 
him better if he didn’t hurt them so much, 
mother,” said Ruth. 

“That isn’t the dentist’s fault, children,” said 
Mrs. Duwell. “If boys and girls had their teeth 
188 


examined once or twice a year, the dentist would 
catch the trouble in time and save them much 
pain.” 

“I don’t suppose dentists ever want to hurt 
anyone,” Ruth said. 

“No, indeed. I think they are very kind to be 
willing to do so in order to save teeth. It is 
dreadful to have bad teeth. Nothing tastes just 
right ; and worse than that, bad teeth mean bad 
health. Good teeth are a grist mill to grind our 
food. Without good teeth we cannot have good 
health.” 

“That is so,” said Wallace. “Even horses 
aren’t worth much after their teeth are gone.” 

“Why can’t they wear false ones?” askedRuth 
with such seriousness that Wallace burst out 
laughing. 

“I wish they could, poor things,” said her 
mother; “but come, dear, we must start.” 



189 


II. At the Dentist’s 

“Ah, here is a little girl whose mouth looks as 
though she brushed her teeth regularly,” said 
Doctor Harrison, as he raised the big comfortable 
arm chair in which Ruth was sitting. 

“She certainly is good about that, doctor,” 
said Mrs. Duwell. 

“Even so,” said the doctor, “I think I shall 
give her one of my little picture cards.” 

Ruth looked so pleased that he handed her 
two. 

“One is for Wallace,” Ruth said. 

“That picture is to remind forgetful children,” 
said the doctor. “Now let us look at the twenty- 
odd pearls in your mouth, little girl.” 

“Oh, Wallace, Doctor Harrison didn’t hurt 
me a bit,” cried Ruth, running into the living- 
room after they had reached home. “He said 
that he didn’t often hurt people who came 
to him in time. Here is a card he gave me 
for you.” 

“Thank you,” said Wallace, looking at the 
card. “Oh, it’s to remind me to brush my teeth. 
I wonder if he thought I needed it.” 

“No, Doctor Harrison didn’t say that, Wal- 
lace; but he did say that we wouldn’t want to 

■ 190 


eat anything with dirty 
hands, and that really 
dirty teeth are worse 
than dirty hands.” 





^C3g 


QUESTIONS 


Do you have your teeth examined once or twice a year? 

The dentist is one of your best friends. Why? 

Do you think that the people in the United States would 
be as well as they are, if there were no dentists? Why not? 

Suppose you had a toothache and there was no dentist to 
whom you could go. WTat would happen? 

ArenT you glad that there are men who have studied, so 
that they can help you take care of your teeth? 


Suppose we children had to live 
Without the help of others — 

I mean, suppose we had to grow 
Without the help of mothers; 

Suppose there were no groceryman, 

No milkman, doctor, baker, 

No tailor who could make our coats. 
And there were no dressmaker; 

Suppose no people ever did 
The things that they could do 
To help each other in this world — 

I wouldn’t want to live, would you? 


191 




THE DRUGGIST, THE NURSE, AND THE 
DOCTOR 

I. The Sick Baby 

“Ruth, I wish you would stop at Doctor Mar- 
cy’s office on your way to school,” said Mrs. Du- 
192 


well a few days later, “and ask him to come to see 
the baby. The httle thing has a high fever.” 

“Oh, dear, I hope baby won’t be sick!” ex- 
claimed Ruth, kissing her mother good-by. 

All the morning she remembered her mother’s 
troubled look. At noon she did not stop to talk 
with the girls, but hurried home as fast as she 
could. 

Wallace was there before her, though, having 
run all the way. He met her at the door. 

“Ruth,” he whispered, “I met Doctor Marcy 
as he came out, and he says that the baby has 
pneumonia,* and it is a bad case. Mother 
doesn’t know I am home. Can’t we get some 
lunch ready to take to her? ” 

“Yes, indeed,” replied Ruth, tiptoeing into 
the kitchen. “You put the kettle on the fire 
and I’ll make some tea and milk toast.” 

Mrs. Duwell looked very pale and weary when 
the children appeared with the lunch tray. 

“I didn’t know you were home, Ruth,” she 
whispered, stepping into the hall. ‘ ' How quietly 
you must have worked, children.” 

“Is there anything else we can do to help?” 
asked Wallace. 

“Why, yes, there is, Wallace. You may take 

♦Pronounced nu-mo'ne-a. 


193 


this pre-scrip-tion to the drug store to be filled. 
Ask the druggist to send the medicine over as 
soon as possible.” 

Just then the baby gave a pitiful little moan, 
which made the mother turn again to the crib. 
The children stole softly downstairs. 



“I’ll run right over to the drug store, Ruth,” 
Wallace said, forgetting his own lunch. 

II. The Druggist 

“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” he said breath- 
lessly as he entered the store. “Baby is very ill, 
and mother wishes this prescription filled. She 

194 


told me to ask if you would please send the medi- 
cine over just as soon as possible.” 

“Baby sick? How sorry I am, Wallace,” said 
Mr. Jones. “Of course we will send it soon. I 
will see to it at once.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Wallace drew a sigh of 
relief. “How much will it be, please?” 

The druggist examined the queer Latin words 
of the doctor’s prescription. “This calls for one 
very expensive medicine, Wallace,” he said; “so 
we shall have to charge seventy-five cents.” 

“That will be all right,” said Wallace. 

When he reached home Ruth had a nice lunch 
spread for him. 

“I am not going to school this afternoon, Wal- 
lace,” she told him. “I’m going to tidy up the 
house, and help mother.” 

“Look at the clock, Ruth !” exclaimed Wallace 
suddenly, “I must start right away — the medi- 
cine will be seventy-five cents.” 

“I will have the money ready,” said Ruth. 
“Good-by.” 

The druggist’s boy came with the medicine a 
few minutes after Wallace left, and the baby was 
given the first dose at once. 

When their father came the children had supper 
ready, but no one ate much. 

195 


“I am glad you can be so helpful, children," 
he said. 


III. The Trained Nurse 

For five days the whole familj' did everything 
they knew to help save the baby’s hfe. Mr. Du- 
well was worried not only about the baby but 
about the children’s mother. 

“I agree with the doctor that it would be 
much wiser to have a trained nurse,’’ he said on 
Saturday afternoon. 

“But mother cannot bear the thought of let- 
ting anyone else take care of the baby,’’ said 
Ruth. 

“I know that mother is a splendid nurse,’’ 
Mr. Duwell continued; “but a trained nurse 
knows all the best new methods of nursing, and 
could give much relief to mother, who is tired 
out.’’ 

Just then the bell rang. 

“It is the doctor,’’ said Ruth. Mr. Duwell 
went to the door, followed by the little girl. 

The doctor was not alone. With him was a 
young lady. Ruth liked her at once; she seemed 
so quiet and strong, and looked so kind. 

“How do you do, sir?’’ said Doctor Marcy to 
Mr. Duwell. “This is Miss Foster, a trained 

196 



Do YOU THINK THIS IS THE RIGHT KIND OF BED FOR A SICK BABY? 



< 


Why NOT? 





nurse. I am taking matters in my own hands, 
you see. That good wife of yours is entirely 
worn out.” 

“I am pleased to meet Miss Foster and I am 
very much obliged to you for bringing her, doc- 
tor,” Mr. Duwell replied. 

“It seems to me to be the very best thing to do. 
I have tried to persuade Mrs. Duwell to see 
things that way,” said the doctor. 

“Oh, come upstairs, doctor,” called Mrs. Du- 
well, hearing the doctor’s voice ; “I think baby is 
scarcely breathing.” 

“Come,” said the doctor to the nurse, leading 
the way. 

Mrs. Duwell was standing near the crib as 
they entered. 

“This is the nurse I was talking about,” the 
doctor said, introducing Miss Foster, and turn- 
ing to look at the baby. 

“I am very glad — ” Mrs. Duwell started to 
speak, but she fainted away before she could 
finish the sentence. 

The nurse did not seem frightened. She laid 
Mrs. Duwell flat on the floor. After sprinkling 
cold water on her face, she held some smelling 
salts to her nose. 

In a minute or two Mrs. Duwell opened her 

198 


eyes. “I must have fainted,” she said ; “I am so 
glad you were here, nurse. Doctor, how is baby? ” 

“About as I expected,” the doctor replied. 
“I believe the worst will be over to-night. Now, 
I W3,nt you to take this medicine which Miss 
Foster will give you, and lie down for a while. 
I expect to come back about ten o’clock to-night. 
Good-by; please obey Miss Foster’s orders,” he 
added. 

“It is such a relief to my mind, doctor,” said 
Mr. Duwell, meeting him at the foot of the stairs, 
“to know that the nurse is here.” 

“It is a relief,” replied the doctor. “If the 
strain had kept on much longer, Mrs. Duwell 
would have had a long term of illness.” 

IV. The Doctor, a Hero 

The doctor and nurse watched by the baby’s 
bedside until the danger was passed. Both wore 
happy smiles when the doctor assured the tired 
Duwell fam il y that the baby would hve. 

“Oh, doctor, money cannot pay you for your 
kindness,” said Mrs. Duwell. “Through rain 
and snow storms, at midnight and at daybreak, 
you have come to help us. How tired you must 
often be.” 

“It is true, doctor,” Mr. Duwell added; “you 
199 


risk your life as willingly as a soldier does, every 
time you go into danger.” 

“We doctors don’t think anything about 
that,” replied Doctor Marcy modestly. “We 
are so anxious to have people get well.” 

“Why, doctors are heroes like soldiers!” ex- 
claimed Wallace, looking at the doctor with 
new respect. “I never thought of that before !” 

“Nurses are, too,” whispered Ruth ; but Doctor 
Marcy overheard. 

“That is right, Ruth,” he said. “Nurses are, 
too.” 

QUESTIONS 

The Druggist 

How long does a druggist have to study in order to fill 
prescriptions? Would it be safe to let those who have not 
studied handle medicines? Why not? 

How near is a drug store to your home ? Can you imagine 
how it would be to live ten miles from a drug store? 

The Nurse 

Can you give some reasons why a trained nurse can care 
for a sick person better than an untrained one? 

Do you know any trained nurses? 

How long does a trained nurse study before graduation ? 

The Doctor 

Did you ever need a doctor at your house ? 

How did you let him know? Did he come quickly? 

What might have happened if he had not come? 

Pretend you are a country doctor and tell about some of 
your long drives. Do you think doctors are heroes? Why? 

200 


ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE 


A Play 

Parts to be taken by Pupils 


Section I 
Baker 
Milkman 
Butcher 
Grocer 
or others 
who supply 
food 


Section II 

Tailor 

Dressmaker 

Shoemaker 

Milliner 

or others 

who supply 

clothing 


Section III 

Bricklayer 

Carpenter 

Painter 

Plumber 

or others 

who supply 

shelter 


Section IV 

Section V 

Coal man 

Doctor 

Miner 

Druggist 

Wood man 

Nurse 

Oil man 

or others 

or others 

who help 

who supply 

keep us 

fuel 

well 


Teacher to Sec. I. What do you do? 

Baker. I am the baker; I bake bread. 
Milkman. I am the milkman; I supply the 
milk. 

Butcher. I am the butcher ; I supply the meat. 
Grocer. I am the grocer ; I sell groceries. 

201 


Teacher. Do you make clothing or build 
houses? 

Baker. No, we supply food for all; that is our 
part. 

Teacher to Sec. II. What do' you do? 

Tailor. I am the tailor; I make the clothing. 
Dressmaker. I am the dressmaker; I make 
dresses. 

Shoemaker. I am the shoemaker ; I make 
shoes. 

Milliner. I am the milliner; I make the hats. 
Teacher. Do you supply food or fuel? 

Tailor. No, we make clothing for all; that is 
our part. 

Teacher to Sec. III. What do you do? 

Bricklayer. I am the bricklayer; I lay the 
bricks. 

Carpenter. I am the carpenter; I build the 
houses. 

Painter. I am the painter ; I paint the houses. 
Plumber. I am the plumber ; I fit the pipes. 
Teacher. Do you make clothes or attend the 
sick? 

Bricklayer. No, we build houses for all; that 
is our part. 


202 


Teacher to Sec. IV. And what do you do? 

Coal man. I am the coal man ; I deliver the 
coal. 

Miner. I am the miner ; I dig the coal. 

Wood man. I am the wood man; I cut the 
wood. 

Oil man. I am the oil man ; I supply oil. 
Teacher. Do you supply food or clothing? 
Coalman. No, we furnish fuel; that is our 
part. 

Teacher to Sec. V. And what do you do? 

Doctor. I am the doctor ; I heal the sick. 
Druggist. I am the druggist ; I sell medicines. 
Nurse. I am the nurse ; I help the doctor. 
Teacher. Do you build houses or furnish fuel? 
Doctor. No, we keep people well, or aid them 
when they are ill ; that is our part. 

All recite: 

One works for all and all for one. 

And so the work of the world gets done. 


203 






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204 








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PART III 

THE AMERICAN RED CROSS 
Junior Membership and School Activities 


207 
























THE JUNIOR RED CROSS 

• 

In September, 1917, President Wilson sent 
out a letter from the White House in Washing- 
ton to the school children of the United States. 

He told them that the President of the United 
States is the President of the American Red 
Cross, and he said that the Red Cross people 
wanted the children to help them in their work. 

Their work, you know, is to help all those 
who are suffering or in need. 

Such work is so beautiful that it is really 
doing golden deeds. 

Now read for yourself this letter from the 
President of the United States which belongs to 
every school child in America. 


209 


A PROCLAMATION 

To the School Children of the United States: 

The President of the United States is also President of 
the American Red Cross. It is from these offices joined in 
one that I write you a word of greeting at this time when so 
many of you are beginning the school year. 

The American Red Cross has just prepared a Junior 
Membership with School Activities in which every pupil in 
the United States can find a chance to serve our country. 
The School is the natural center of your life. Through nt 
you can best work in the great cause of freedom to which we 
have all pledged ourselves. 

Our Junior Red Cross will bring to you opportunities of 
service to your community and to other communities all 
over the world and guide your service with high and relig’ous 
ideals. It will teach you how to save in order that suffering 
children elsewhei*e may have a chance to live. It will teach 
you how to prepare some of the supplies which wounded 
soldiers and homeless families lack. It will send to you 
through the Red Cross Bulletins the thrilling stories of 
relief and rescue. And best of all, more perfectly than 
through any of your other school lessons, you will learn by 
doing those kind things under your teacher’s direction to be 
future good citizens of this great country which we all love. 

And I commend to all school teachers in the country the 
simple plan which the American Red Cross has worked out 
to provide for your cooperation, knowing as I do that school 
children will give their best service under the direct guidance 
and instruction of their teachers. Is not this perhaps the 
chance for which you have been looking to give your time 
and efforts in some measure to meet our national needs? 

(Signed) Woodrow Wilson, 
President. 

September 15, 1917. 


210 



How do you suppose the school children of the United 
States felt when they read this letter from the President? 

It is a wonderful letter. It does not read like a letter 
from a great man to little children. 

It is different from most of the letters which grown 
people write to children, for the President writes to the 
children asking for their help, just as if they were grown up. 

Indeed, when the grown people read the letter they wished 
that they could be school children again, because there 
was no Junior Red Cross when they were young, and they 
had to wait to grow up before they could help the Red 
Cross do golden deeds. 

You see, when they were young, everybody thought. 

When the children are grown up they will help us.^’ Then 
they waited for them to grow. 

Are you not glad that you are able, while a child, to do 
helpful work for your country? 

Now let us think about some of the golden deeds which 
the Red Cross does. 

THE AMERICAN RED CROSS IN 
TIMES OF PEACE 

Of course, in times of war the Red Cross is 
very busy helping the soldiers, but do you think 
that it is idle in times of peace? 

No, indeed. The Red Cross is always listening 
for a call of distress, and is ready to aid any 
people who are suffering. 

One day in 1912 the Red Cross heard the 
people who lived along the banks of the Missis- 
211 



sippi River calling for help, for the river had 
been so swollen by rains that it had risen high 
and overflowed its banks in a dangerous flood. 


Picture from a photograph 

Do you know what happens during a flood? 

Name all the different things you see on the little island 
in this picture. 

Why do you suppose the people are all staying there 
instead of rowing off in the boats? 

Because they are expecting the relief launch of the Red 
212 


Cross to come and take them to a safe place. The water 
is flowing too swiftly for the httle boats to cross in safety. 
They would probably be carried against a tree and upset. 

Many houses have been carried down the river during 
this flood, so you can understand how glad the people will 
be to see help coming. In this next picture you will see 
how the Red Cross answered the people’s cry for help. 



This picture show’s a Carnegie Library which was used 
by the Red Cross as a relief station during the Mississippi 
flood. 

The Red Cross spent thousands of dollars during this flood, 
saving many lives and helping hundreds of flood victims. 

Can you name some of the things the people needed? 

What do you suppose they think of the Red Cross? 

Imagine that a great wind storm or cyclone should come 
very suddenly whirling through your city, tearing down 
houses, uprooting trees, and leaving thousands of people 
homeless — who would be the first to help the people who 
were hurt? 


213 


This is just an example of the way the Red Cross is stand- 
ing ready to help in time of need. 

If you read the Red Cross Magazine you will learn about 
hundreds of golden deeds which the Red Cross is doing, for 
the work of the Red Cross in times of peace and at all times 
is to help people in distress and need. 



214 


THE AMERICAN RED CROSS IN 
TIMES OF WAR 

The work of the Red Cross during war is 

First. To care for and nurse the wounded 
among our own soldiers and sailors, and even 
the wounded of the enemy who fall into the 
hands of the Red Cross. 

Of course, in order to do this, millions of 
people who are not doing the nursing can make 
the articles needed for that purpose. What can 
the Junior Red Cross do to help? 

Second. To care for the families of the soldiers 
and sailors who have given their services to their 
country. 

How can the Junior Red Cross help? 

BEFORE THE DAYS OF THE RED CROSS 

Do you suppose that people always felt that 
they should help everybody in such ways? 

No; the Red Cross is not yet sixty years old. 

War is thousands of years old. 

In olden days when soldiers fought, there were 
no kind Red Cross nurses to care for the 
wounded. There were no faithful Red Cross 
dogs to search for wounded soldiers after the 
battle was over. 


215 


Often the suffering men died of neglect when 
proper nursing would have saved their lives. 
But no one ever thought of sending a band of 
women nurses to wars to help the soldiers, 
before the days of Florence Nightingale. 

Florence Nightingale 

Florence was a little English girl who always 
said that when she grew up she would be a nurse. 

She felt sorry to see any living creature suffer 
and always tried to help it. Sometimes it was 
a bird with a broken wing or an injured rabbit 
that she tended. 

All the neighbors brought their sick pets to 
her. The little nurse finally had so many 
patients that her father gave her a corner of the 
greenhouse for a hospital. The animals learned 
to love her and she had many friends among 
them as you may imagine. 

When she was a young woman nursing in a 
London hospital, England’s soldiers were sent 
to war with Russia’s soldiers. They had to 
travel in ships all the way to the Crimea in 
Russia. You see, they were a great distance 
from home. 

News of their terrible sufferings reached Flor- 
ence Nightingale in the hospital. Taking a 
216 


band of nurses with her she went to nurse the 
wounded soldiers in that far off land. 

When the nurses arrived there, they found 
thousands of sick and wounded men lying on 
the hospital floors with no one to help them. 
At once the brave nurses began to take care of 
the soldiers as kindly as your mother takes care 
of you when you are ill. 

Do you wonder that many who would have 
died, lived and were grateful all their lives to 
the nurses? 

Of course there were no gas or electric lights 
in the rough hospitals of those days, so that 
Miss Nightingale always carried a lighted lamp 
when she made her good-night rounds. The 
weary soldiers looked for the gleam of the lamp 
in the darkness and were made happy by her 
words of encouragement. That is how she came 
to be called “The Lady of the Lamp.” 

The story of Florence Nightingale and her 
brave band spread far and near. It touched 
the hearts of people everywhere, and made them 
think about what could be done to relieve suffer- 
ing even before the days of the Red Cross. 


217 


» 



Copyright and reproduced by courtesy of “ The Ladies* Home Journal" 

Tell a story about this picture 


218 


HOW THE RED CROSS CAME TO BE 

Among those who heard the story of what 
Florence Nightingale and her brave nurses did 
for the soldiers, was Henri Du-nant. a kind- 
hearted Swiss gentleman. 

He remembered it several years afterward 
when he was present at a terrible battle between 
the soldiers of Austria and those of France and 
Sardinia. He saw thousands of wounded sol- 
diers dying almost without help. 

In a book which he wrote about their suffer- 
ings, he asked the question, “Why could not 
the people of all countries make plans to care 
for the sick and wounded during wars?” 

And from his question came the great Red 
Cross work in which we all have a part. 

The Red Cross is more wonderful than any 
war, for it comes from the kindness in people’s 
thoughts. 

We hope that long years from now there will 
be no war. 

But we cannot expect to have wars cease until 
the people, and not the kings, of the great 
countries of the world make their own laws. 

Henri Dunant and Florence Nightingale were 
like the children of today when they were little. 

219 


They liked to play the same kinds of games that 
you do. 

When Florence played nurse with her dolls she 
did not dream of the great good she would do 
for the whole world. 

It may be that some of the boys and girls who 
are now reading this story will be like Henri 
Dunant and Florence Nightingale, and will 
grow up to do great and noble work for others. 

QUESTIONS 

I 

What do you think of people w^ho help other people in 
trouble? 

What do you think of people who do not help people w^ho 
are in need of help? 

Do you realize that the work of the Red Cross is entirely 
the helping of people who need help? 

Did a good neighbor ever come to your house and help 
your people in time of illness or trouble? 

You would be glad to help other people in just some such 
way, wouldn^t you? 

Are you not glad that the Junior Red Cross gives you a 
chance to pass such kindness along? 

II 

Mention some of the good deeds which you know the 
Junior Red Cross has done. 


220 



Have you ever sold Red Cross Christmas seals? What 
does the Red Cross do with the money made from the sale 
of Christmas seals? 

How old is the Junior Red Cross? 

It is a pretty young baby to have accomplished so much, 
isn^t it? But do you know how fast it has grown? 

When you see a person wearing a Red Cross button, you 
know many things about that person. 

Here are a few of the things that are shown : 

1. Kindness. 2. Helpfulness. 3. Love of one’s country. 

Can you name others? 


Copr. Underwood & Underwood 

This little dog’s mistress says that he is too young to enlist now, 
but when he grows up he wants to be a red cross army dog. 


221 


HOW I CAN HELP THE RED CROSS 
IN TIME OF WAR 
AND IN TIME OF PEACE 


1. By belonging to the Red Cross and trying 
to get others to belong. 

2. By learning to save in order that suffering 
children elsewhere may have their share of food 
and clothing. 

3. By helping to prepare some of the supplies 
that wounded soldiers and homeless families are 
in need of. 

4. By reading stories of relief and rescue so 
that I can tell others about the Red Cross. 

5. By learning to be a good citizen of my 
country even before I grow up. 

The Junior Members of the Red Cross try to 
share their good things with those who do not 
have them. 




The members of the American Red Cross have two 
flags. 

This boy has two flags. Why? 

Do you have two flags? 

Do you wear a Red Cross button? 

Has your school an American Red Cross School Auxiliary 
banner? 

Do you know that the American Red Cross serves the 
government of the United States, and that the members of 
the Red Cross are the best citizens of our country? 

The Red Cross means being good neighbors — working 
together. 


223 


THE LADY OF THE LAMP 

A PLAY 

Characters : 

Florence Nightingale, the nurse 
Frances, her sister 
Flossie, her doll 

Harry Miller, Doctor Make-believe 
Old Roger, the shepherd 
Captain, the hurt dog 
Mr. Vicar, the minister 
Soldiers, doctors, and other nurses 


Act I. The Sick Doll 
Scene. In an English Garden. 

Frances. Come on! Let’s play tag, Florence. 

Florence. I can’t, Frances. Flossie is too sick. 
Won’t you play you are the doctor, and come 
see her? 

Frances. Oh, no; you always want to play the 
same thing! Your dolls are always sick! I 
believe you love the broken ones better than the 
others. 

Florence. Yes, I do. I’m going to be a nurse 
when I grow up. Well, if you don’t want to 
224 


play that you are the doctor, I am going to ask 
Harry Miller to play that he is. {Goes to the hedge 
and calls.) Oh, Harry, come on over, and play 
you are the doctor for my sick dolls. 

Frances. Come on, Harry, I am going to be 
the druggist. 

Harry. All right, girls; Fll be over in a 
minute. 

Florence. Don’t forget your medicine case. 

Harry {entering). Good morning, madam. Is 
your little child ill? 

Act the rest of the story yourselves. 


Act II. Good Old Cap 
Scene. In an English Village Street. 

{Florence is riding on her little -pony. With her on 
horseback is Mr. Vicar, the minister of the village 
church.) 

Mr. Vicar. What a lovely day, Florence. 

Florence. It is a beautiful day, Mr. Vicar. I 
am so glad we are going to call to see old Mrs. 
Williams. I hope she is better than when 
mother last saw her. 


225 


Mr. Vicar. I have not heard from her for 
some days. 

Florence {looking off in, the distance). Oh, there is 
old Roger trying to gather his sheep together. 
Why, I wonder where his dog is. {They ride up.) 

Mr. Vicar. Good morning, Roger. You seem 
to be having trouble. 

Roger. That I am, sir. Good morning, miss. 

Florence. Why, where is your good dog. Cap? 

Roger. Some boys threw stones at him and 
broke his leg. I am afraid he will never be able 
to run again. 

Florence. Oh, how dreadful! 

Roger. Yes, I miss him so much. He was 
such a help. 

Florence {to Mr. Vicar, in a whisper) . I wonder if 
we could see the dog. We might be able to 
do something for him. 

Mr. Vicar. Where is your dog, Roger? 

Roger. At home, beside the fire. 

{Mr. Vicar and Florence ride to the cottage. They 
find that Cap’s leg is not broken, but is sprained. 
Florence asks for hot water, and bathes and bandages the 
leg. In a few days the dog recovers and helps Roger 
with the sheep.) 

Act out the rest of the story yourselves. 

226 


Act III. The Lady of the Lamp 

Scene. In a hospital. Soldiers are lying on cots 
and chairs. Florence Nightingale comes 
in with a lamp in her hand. 

First Soldier. Hush, here comes the Angel of 
Mercy to look after us poor fellows. How tired 
she must be after working all day. 

Second Soldier. Yes, the Lady of the Lamp. 
Third Soldier. She has done more for our 
country than all the soldiers during this terrible 
war. 

All the Soldiers. That she has. May Heaven 
bless her brave heart! 


America ! America ! 

Thy loyal children we ! 

Dear Mother Land, our lives we pledge 
In service unto thee. 


'^ 2 ~ 


YOU and I 

And ALL of US TOGETHER 

Will make this WORLD of OURS 
Sorry and Sad — 


IF 

YOU and I 

And ALL of US TOGETHER 
Do not 

DO RIGHT. 

BUT 

YOU and I 

And ALL of US TOGETHER 

Will make THIS WORLD of OURS 
HAPPY and GLAD— 



BECAUSE 


YOU and I 
And ALL of US TO- 
GETHER 
WILL 

DO RIGHT! 



We Will Be 

GOOD CITIZENS, FOR WE LOVE OUR 
COUNTRY AND OUR FLAG. 

228 






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